GIJoe: Secrets
by Jaenelle Angelline
Summary: A search-and-rescue humanitarian mission in the Congo goes terribly wrong for the Joes when Scarlett and Snake Eyes get separated from the team in an accident. Book 3 in the 'Special Missions' series. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1: Silent Night

**Chapter 1: Silent Night**

Shana surveyed herself anxiously in the mirror.

_Maybe this is too sexy. I don't want to embarrass Snake Eyes when we go out. He hardly ever gets to and I don't want to make him uncomfortable_. She pulled off the red sequined halter top she'd put on and reached for her second choice, draped over the bed. Dark red, the same color as the polish Courtney had insisted on putting on her nails that afternoon and that, while she'd protested as Courtney painted the polish on and fumed in impatience while it dried, she had to admit it did look nice against the fair skin of her hands.

The tunic settled over her shoulders, falling in a handkerchief hem to mid-thigh over the black leather pants she wore. Nicer, but now she looked too plain. Not like someone going out to a club, more like someone heading for a restaurant. Although it did hug her curves nicely, emphasizing her narrow waist and full bust. Maybe too full? Courtney had talked her into putting on a padded push-up, and now Shana felt slightly uncomfortable with how much her chest stood out.

She heard a tap at the door to her quarters behind her and knew who it was without turning around. "Snake Eyes, do you think this bra Courtney gave me makes my chest look too big?" she asked absentmindedly as she reached down, trying to wiggle the bra straps into a more comfortable position on her shoulders.

A delicate throat-clearing sound behind her yanked her eyes up to the mirror, and she flushed as bright as her hair. Yes, her visitor was Snake Eyes, as she'd known it would be, but in the hall behind him was General Hawk and Gung Ho. No, Clayton and Ettienne—they weren't dressed in fatigues, they were in regular clothes so that made them off-duty. "Um…." She floundered for a moment.

Clayton's lips were compressed in a firm, thin, tight line, but the corners of his mouth twitched as if he were trying very hard indeed not to smile. Beside him, Ettienne seemed to be trying to control himself, but he wasn't having as much success as Clayton was—he was a bare step away from laughing.

Shana put her hands on her hips and glared at Ettienne in the mirror. "One word, one snicker out of you, Gunnery Sergeant, and you'll be doing extra laps during drills," she threatened.

Snake Eyes turned to the other two men, firmly pushed them out of the doorway, then stepped into Shana's quarters and closed the door_. You look lovely, Shana_, he signed. _You always look lovely_.

"Courtney talked me into putting on this push-up bra thing and I think it makes my chest stick out too much," she pulled the tunic off and stared at the push-up bra.

_Is it comfortable?_

"Not really."

_Then why wear it?_

"Court gave it to me and told me that if I wore it you'd never be able to take your eyes off me. And I want to look nice for you—we hardly ever get to go out anywhere, and this time we're going with Clayton and Liv, Ettienne and Alex." As Alex's guests, to a bar in midtown called the Europa, where Alex had said that they had 'silent nights', where those who used AMESLAN took over the club for the night. Alex had told them about it earlier this summer during the Colombian fiasco, but things had been so busy they hadn't been able to take advantage of the offer till now.

Snake Eyes stepped close to her, reached behind her and unhooked the bra, tossing it aside on the bed. _If you aren't comfortable, then you're not going to enjoy yourself. Forget what you might look like to others and what Courtney's talked you into and wear what _you _want. You will always look beautiful to me no matter what you wear._

Shana grinned. So simple. Snake Eyes had a way of making everything seem simple and straightforward. She stepped over to her chest of drawers, extracted one of her regular bras, and put that on, then turned toward the bed. "I still have to decide which top to wear."

Snake Eyes rolled his eyes, the universal sign of a man's frustration with a woman's obsession over what to wear. He stepped over to the bed, looked at the choices laid out there, then reached for the red sequined top Shana took off a moment before he'd walked in. _This one._

She stared at him. "Are you sure? I mean…it shows a lot more skin than I thought you might be comfortable with." It was a dark cherry color with strings that tied behind the neck in a halter style, then hooked to the high back of the shirt so one could wear a racerback bra without straps showing. The front was embroidered with bright scarlet flowers dotted with bright red sequins and black crystal beads, and matched her black leather pants and high-heeled black leather boots perfectly.

He didn't say anything, simply stood there holding the piece of clothing out resolutely. So she sighed, took it from him, and sorted out the arm and head holes before slipping it over her head. "You're not going to like it." Although she did. She'd gone shopping with Allie and Courtney almost a year ago and found this top in a Manhattan thrift store; it still had tags on it, had never been worn, and she'd fallen in love with it instantly, then bought it at Court's urging even though she'd known she would probably never wear it. "There. See, I told you you wouldn't like it."

For answer, he stepped close, laying gentle hands on either side of her hips, then leaned in and closed his mouth delicately on the junction of her neck and shoulder just under the thin strings of the halter top. The feel of his warm breath against her skin, his hot mouth leaving a trail of wet kisses from her neck to shoulder and on toward the curve of her arm…

She pulled back, slightly breathless. "Snake Eyes…Clayton and Ettienne are waiting…they'll never forgive us if they miss this date with Olivia and Alex…"

_Do you want to stay instead of going out?_ He pulled back to look in her eyes.

"I'm perfectly happy staying here with you, you know that," she said, caressing the side of his face with her palm. And he knew it was the truth, but he also knew that she didn't get out too often because she knew public places made him self-conscious.

And the last time they'd gone to a club it hadn't gone too well…

It had been almost a year and a half ago; they had gone to a Brooklyn hot spot that Courtney and Wayne recommended, and Shana had enjoyed herself thoroughly. She'd taken the dance floor with Courtney as Wayne and Snake Eyes sat at their table in the corner. A lifetime of martial arts training had given her the ability to move as few others could, and she'd been enjoying the sensual pleasure of the dance as well as the wicked merriment at seeing her lover's reaction to her movement. Knowing he was watching put a little more wiggle to her hips, a little more grace to her turns, more heat in her gaze…and he'd signed across the dance floor to her, _if you keep that up we'll end up having to leave early and you'll know exactly why…_

She'd laughed…and all hell broke loose.

Three guys from the opposite corner jumped him at once; taken by surprise, engrossed in her 'show', one punch actually almost landed by the time Snake Eyes recovered the presence of mind to block it. Moments later the guy who'd tried to punch him was on the floor groaning from a sprained wrist and four other guys had joined the two remaining thugs. Wayne joined the fight, plowing in to defend Snake Eyes (not that Snake Eyes really needed defending) and Court and Shana had piled gleefully into the fight as well. Shana remembered laughing as she blocked punches, got a few good licks of her own in, and was a little sorry when the club's bouncers had stepped in to break up the fight. As the combatants separated Shana got, from the disjointed rambling of the three guys who'd started the fight, that they thought Snake Eyes had been flashing a rival gang's hand signs across the floor and had stepped in to defend 'their territory'. The club had tossed the combatants out on their rears.

_All _the combatants. Including Shana, Snake Eyes, Wayne, and Courtney.

Shana had lost her temper and blown up at the bouncers. It wasn't fair, they hadn't done anything wrong, they were minding their own business when those hood rats had gotten involved and why should they be penalized? She was so upset she nearly took a swing at one of the bouncers, which would definitely have landed them in hot water not only with the club, the bouncers, the Brooklyn cops, but also with Hawk as well, but Snake Eyes had restrained her, hustled her off. They'd finished what had started out as a fun evening with a magnificent (if silent) argument in sign language in the back of the base's Hummer while Courtney and Wayne sat in the front seat and tried very, very hard not to laugh; but nothing she said could budge him from his determination to never go clubbing again.

It wasn't that she missed it, not really; evenings with Snake Eyes were quieter and always fun, whatever they ended up doing, whether it was staying on base or, rarely, going out to dinner with a few of the other Joes to a 'safe' hangout like Knickerbocker's with Allie and Dash and Clayton. But the adrenaline and, yes, fun of a good brawl was always in the back of her mind when she saw Court and Wayne head for one of their lower Eastside dives, a trip that usually ended up with at least one broken glass. And she knew that Snake Eyes knew, but his purpose for staying away was twofold; one, to keep from the kind of trouble they'd experienced that night and two, to keep Shana from getting into trouble as bad, and as often, as Courtney and Wayne did.

But Alex had insisted nothing was going to happen here, and they were, after all, going with a cop (Olivia), a two star General (Clayton), and a New York Assistant District Attorney (Alex). So he'd agreed to give this a try, though he was prepared to haul Shana out of there if anyone so much as looked at them the wrong way. He did feel bad that she didn't get out as often as the other girls; he saw the wistful looks she passed Courtney's way whenever the blond tank jockey left, although she hid it well and never once said a word of complaint.

Hopefully, if this worked out…

He could feel her restrained excitement as Clayton drove the Hummer across the Verrazano Narrows Bridge that led from Staten Island and Joe base, hidden under the old Fort Wadsworth Historic Site, into Lower Manhattan. By the time they pulled to a stop outside Olivia and Alex's apartment building both women were already there, dressed in light jackets; a week into December and the weather had remained unseasonably warm, for New York anyway, although they'd heard that western New York, where Cam and Charlie were on leave, had already seen the first snows of winter. Alex directed them through the maze of New York streets until they got to a quaint, cozy-looking establishment with a sign that read 'Europa'.

The bar was separated into two distinctly separate sections; one tastefully lit with subdued lighting that was still bright enough to illuminate the neatly-set tables for anyone looking for a good meal and quiet conversation; the other half, toward the rear of the building, housed a dance floor just large enough for about ten couples to dance without bumping into each other and the sound system was loud but not deafening. As they walked in Snake Eyes did see two bouncers sitting discreetly in the shadows by the front door, but they sat in non-threatening postures, and when one tipped his head slightly in acknowledgement of Snake Eyes' scrutiny, Snake Eyes saw the dog tags hanging around the man's neck. _Former serviceman, hmm._ His liking for the place rose a notch.

The hostess who seated them and handed them menus smiled brightly and didn't say a word about Snake Eyes' scarred face, something that impressed him. Usually people who saw him for the first time would look at him, do a double take, look at him again, and then would either come the 'pity smile' or would hastily look away, or down. This woman did neither.

And now came the interesting part; conversation had to be silent. Snake Eyes found himself in the novel position of being the one who had to order for them; Shana could have, but she sat demurely with that merrily wicked look in her eyes as he was forced to place the orders for their group; drinks first, then the meal. Clayton, Ettienne and Snake Eyes all ordered one of Europa's 'specialty burgers'; Shana, Alex and Olivia all requested chicken over linguine alfredo; Clayton overruled Olivia and pointed to the burger list. Olivia glared daggers at him, which he responded to by giving her a wide, innocent smile and pointing to her by-now-very-obvious baby bump. She rolled her eyes but made no further comment. Clayton and Ettienne ordered beers; after some thought Snake Eyes did too. Olivia ordered a soda, and Alex ordered some sort of fruit-flavored mixed drink which she asked Snake Eyes to stress to the waitress that should be easy on the alcohol and heavier on the fruit juice.

The waitress who brought their drinks didn't have as much control as the hostess who had seated them. She stared openly at Snake Eyes as she handed him his beer. Shana distracted the waitress quickly with a signed request for a beer of her own, which the woman acknowledged and then stepped away from their table to get, nearly bumping into another waitress in the process.

"I need to use the ladies' room," Olivia heaved herself up from her seat. "Alex, could you show me where it is? It's been a while since I was here." The two women headed off, but Shana and Clayton both saw them head not for the restrooms, clearly marked at the other side of the bar, but for the bar itself. He had an idea where they were going.

Apparently so did Shana, because she slid over in her seat, deliberately sitting up a bit so she could block Snake Eyes' view of the bar as Alex and Olivia spoke in low tones to the bartender. Ettienne figured it out a moment later and started asking Shana questions about how to say the names of some of the menu's entrées in sign language; Snake Eyes stepped in to correct a few that she got wrong…deliberately, Clayton was sure, as he kept one ear on the conversation and one eye on the conversation at the bar. The bartender had gone to the kitchen door, and moments later another person, this one dressed in a suit, came out. Alex and Olivia spoke quickly with him, at one point both taking out their wallets and displaying their badges; Olivia's NYPD badge, Alex's DA's office. At the sight of the DA's badge the man nodded quickly, and the two women headed back to the booth with a decidedly cheerful look on their faces.

Shana took Snake Eyes onto the dance floor with her, leaving Clayton and Ettienne to satisfy their curiosity. "What did you say to him?" Clayton leaned in and whispered to Olivia.

"We informed him that you're an Army General, Ettienne's a Gunnery Sergeant, and Snake Eyes is a decorated active-duty Army veteran who had an unfortunate accident. We also pointed out that if the wait staff continued to make such a point of staring, we could bring a discrimination suit against them. Alex flashed her DA's badge to make her point, and the manager was pretty quick to jump in and say that wouldn't be necessary. I don't foresee any problems. I also don't foresee that particular waitress coming back to our table."

True to Liv's prediction, when their order was brought to their table, it was the same girl who had greeted them courteously at the door. Despite their unspoken agreement to keep this little hiccup a secret from Snake Eyes, Olivia's grin as the woman left with an empty tray was truly insufferable, and Clayton leaned over to whisper in her ear, "If you keep grinning like that Snake Eyes is going to guess something's up." They did, however, bring Shana into the loop when Snake Eyes excused himself to use the men's room about halfway through the meal. Shana had to stifle a laugh and tried to compose herself as Snake Eyes returned to the table. He gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head and busied herself with her meal.

He didn't bring up the subject until that evening when they were back at base. He followed Shana to her quarters quietly; Allie and Courtney were probably both asleep and he didn't want to wake them, so he waited until Shana's door was closed before he signed, _So are you going to tell me what all that whispering and giggling was about?_

"Alex and Olivia straightened out that one waitress who kept staring at you. They had a quiet word with the manager over at the bar."

_They didn't have to. I'll admit…I was kind of enjoying the shock value. As long as no one was causing trouble like last time, they can stare all they want._

She turned to him after she kicked her boots off into her closet. "Sweetheart, I didn't want to ruin our first night out in a while. You were enjoying yourself, so was I, and I didn't want anything to spoil that."

He wrapped his arms around her, dipping his head to bury his face in her hair, and she didn't need to see his hands to know what he was saying; he appreciated her thoughtfulness, and he had wanted the evening to be perfect, too. _You_ _don't get out much, and I feel guilty because I know it's because of me. I did like the place, the food was good, and it has been a long time since I got to dance with you. If you want to go back there we certainly can._

She squealed and threw her arms around him, mashing her lips to his, confirming to him that she had indeed missed out on a social life. As he reached out to hug her, heart aching, he felt the strings to her halter top brush his hand, and a different sort of ache awakened. He tugged at one of the strings, and she giggled into his mouth as the knots holding that skimpy bit of cloth around her torso fell apart. The bra followed soon after, then the leather pants that fit her like a second skin and that Snake Eyes had spent half the evening imagining stripping off her.

And then there was no more imagining.


	2. Chapter 2: Kidnapping

**Chapter 2: Kidnapping**

"So how was yesterday evening?" Clayton found it hard to break the comfortable silence.

He and Ettienne had made the drive out to Manhattan in hopes of catching Alex and Liv at home. Liv, being on maternity leave, was; she was still spending some of her days at the station on paperwork and admin duties but her boss and coworkers were keeping a strict eye on how much time she spent and what she was doing, and Liv herself admitted that it was a good thing; she physically wasn't capable of doing more than she was already, and walking the street interviewing witnesses and chasing suspects would have been impossible even if Don Cragen hadn't absolutely forbidden it.

Alex had still been at the office; trial prep, Olivia had told the two men; Ettienne had promptly volunteered to take the base Hummer and go pick her up at the DA's office. Clayton and Liv had been left alone at the apartment.

While normally being alone would have been an invitation to spend some time in bed (not sleeping!) Olivia was just getting to that stage in her pregnancy when she was terribly uncomfortable and any kind of physical activity was more effort than she wanted to go through. Instead they'd just spent a quiet hour sitting on her couch watching TV and enjoying just being together, a rare moment of peace that didn't come too frequently in their busy lives.

Olivia flashed him a huge grin, and damn, but his heart melted every time he saw that smile. She was a lovely woman, and the smile just lit up her whole face. And her laugh…when she laughed he would do anything for her. "It was wonderful. I haven't been out to a club in a while, even before I got pregnant, and it was fun hanging out and double dating with Alex. Well, triple-dating—I get the feeling Shana doesn't get out much."

"She doesn't." Clayton said candidly. "Snake Eyes gets very self-conscious about his looks, and Shana loves him so much that if he chooses to stay at base on their nights off she usually ends up staying too. I have been known to deliberately assign Snake Eyes duty on a night when she's off so she won't feel guilty about going out and having fun without him, and he won't feel guilty about her missing out on some fun, but they both know that I do it deliberately and the last time I did Shana made it a point of letting me know she knew the next day when I went out on PT with some of the senior staff." He grinned ruefully at the memory. "She was a bit harder on these old bones of mine than usual."

"I would have given her clean-up duty." Olivia frowned. "You don't have the same stamina the younger guys do, and it's not fair of her to drive you like that…"

"Oh, no, it was just enough to make her point. Shana has very good instincts when it comes to determining where someone's limits are, and no one at Joe base has ever gotten seriously hurt during training. She'll push when she knows a recruit isn't working up to their potential, but she'll ease off when she knows you're trying your best. She pretends she's emotionless and callous but you can tell she cares when she yells at someone being careless on the training course. She's…" he thought for a moment. "A really complex person."

Olivia laughed, good humor restored. "Aren't we all?"

They were interrupted by the front door opening; since they'd been sitting in the dark with only the TV on, it was only natural to hear Alex's voice. "Sssh. Bet they fell asleep on the couch with the TV on."

Clayton looked at Olivia. Olivia grinned at Clayton. Then they both closed their eyes and pretended to be asleep.

Alex whispered, "See? I told you they'd be asleep—" The rest of what she'd been about to say was lost as Ettienne grabbed her and kissed her.

The kiss deepened, lengthened; Olivia and Clayton opened their eyes in time to see Ettienne bring his hands up and slide her suit jacket off her shoulders even as she pushed off the sleeveless vest-jacket he wore. Moments later her blouse joined his button-down shirt on the floor.

Clayton couldn't help but notice that the scars on her shoulders and back had faded, now visible in the semi-darkness merely as pinkish lines on her milky skin. Not that Ettienne saw them anymore, just as Shana didn't see Snake Eyes' facial scars.

However, he had no desire to see more than what he had already…

Olivia must have read his mind because she stirred a little, yawned hugely. Alex jumped, grabbed her blouse off the floor and hurriedly pulled it on over her shoulders as Clayton reached over and turned on the lamp next to the couch. "Finally got done at the office?" he feigned still being half asleep; Alex's color returned to normal but the slight quirk to Ettienne's lips told him that his Gunnery Sergeant knew Clayton had still been awake. He also knew Ettienne wouldn't tell Alex—they were guys, they were allowed to keep some secrets.

"Um, yeah, I'm about as ready as I could ever be. Ran through questioning with Amaro and Rollins so they're prepped too." Alex's hands were flying on the buttons of her shirt; even with the last two fingers of her right hand now inoperable, courtesy of Colombian druglord Cesar Velez, she'd quickly learned to compensate for their loss and now you could hardly tell they didn't work. Olivia couldn't help but smile a little at Alex; Alex turned pink. To cover her blush and to escape Olivia's knowing smile, she turned her attention to the mail on the little table by the front door.

"Alex found a car," Ettienne distracted Clayton and Olivia to give Alex time to compose herself. "Another 65 Mustang, looks just like Olivia's except it's white. Looks to be in pretty good shape, from the online photos, but we have to actually see it first."

" Can I make a suggestion?" Clayton sat up on the couch, slipping a hand under Liv's arm and helping her sit up also.

"Sure," Alex said absently as she extracted an envelope from the pile of mail that was hers and tore it open with one neatly-manicured nail.

"Take Courtney with you. She's a whiz with machines, and she'll be able to tell you instantly what's wrong with it. She might even be able to argue the price down for you if there is something wrong, and of course she'll fix it—you're more than welcome to bring it over to base so she can tinker with it." He grinned. "In fact, I'd recommend it; she's been chafing a little at the inaction of late and having a project like this to distract her might keep her out of trouble for the foreseeable future."

Alex hadn't been listening; now, as he watched, she slowly turned pale and her hand came up to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. "Alex? What's wrong?" Olivia was instantly out of the couch, going to her best friend's side.

"I…I…" Alex held the letter out to Olivia with a shaking hand. "Zimurinda raided Keshero. Their grandmother was killed but Shandi and her little brother weren't found, which means he has them."

"Oh my God. I am so sorry, Alex," Olivia took the letter from Alex's hand as Clayton got up off the couch and looked over her shoulder.

_Dear Alexandra,_ the letter started.

_I don't know if the news has reached you yet, but even if it did I wanted you to know more of the details. After you left charges were filed with the International Criminal Court against Lieutenant Colonel Innocent Zimurinda. The little girl you were involved with, Shandi, was going to be our star witness; we thought she was safe in Keshero because all the factions knew Keshero was under ICC and UN protection._

_Zimurinda raided Keshero roughly about a week ago, burned the houses, killed a lot of the adults. Some of them escaped into the jungle; many weren't so fortunate. Shandi's grandmother was one of those who were killed. Shandi and her little brother, however, are missing, along with a number of the other village children who you helped; there were no children's bodies found in the ruins of the village. _

_It's an outrage against the UN and the ICC. And while America technically isn't in the coalition of countries backing the ICC anymore, we are sending a delegation to Washington DC to officially ask for help from the American military; a troop of soldiers working with the UN forces should be able to track Zimurinda down and capture him and get the children back. Alex, I took the liberty of specifically mentioning you; those children trusted you once, and if you came to them in the middle of the jungle with a troop of soldiers they would trust you again to get them out. You may be our last hope to find them and get them back._

_Alexandra, I know what you went through when you were here over the summer; believe me, if I could see any other way to bring the children back I wouldn't be asking you to come to the DRC. But I firmly believe that if we sent UN forces to capture Zimurinda the children wouldn't trust them, nor would they trust anyone else we could send. You are my last hope—but believe me when I say that I will understand completely if you refuse, and I can't be entirely sure that I wouldn't refuse either. _

_Be well. Judy Donnelly._

There were tears on Alex's face. "Shandi. And her brother. And their grandmother's dead now. I…I can't…"She turned to Ettienne, and the Cajun knew what she was going to say before she even said it. "I can't turn Judy down, 'Tienne. I can't. The children need me, need someone they can trust to have their best interests, and they don't trust soldiers." Olivia stepped forward, and in her heels Alex was tall enough to lean forward slightly and bury her face in Olivia's shoulder as she cried.

Over Alex and Olivia's heads Clayton and Ettienne shared a long look. Having served together for so long, each knew what the other was thinking, but it was Ettienne who spoke first, voicing what he and Clayton were both thinking. "She not goin' to go alone. An' dis is a humanitarian mission—dese are children dat t'ose militia rogues captured."

Clayton spoke, his voice soft. "I remember what Alex looked like when she came in. I can't imagine walking away from this knowing a child was in the hands of the same bastards who did that." He nodded decisively. "I'll see what I can do."

Alex finally calmed enough to eat something, and over the meal the four of them discussed the possibilities. "I'm sure Lieutenant General Johnson has heard about this by now. I'm equally sure that he hasn't told us either because he doesn't want to commit or he doesn't know whether Alex would be willing to go back after—after what happened last time." He didn't have to say any more; none of them could forget the events of the early summer. As elite soldiers in the US military, they'd been on a lot of 'unforgettable' missions—but the one this summer had been one of the worst ever, even though it had ended well. "I'll contact the Lieutenant General tomorrow and see what he says. We don't want to go off on an unsanctioned mission, not knowingly, anyway," he finished with a wry smile. The mission in early summer to the DRC, where they'd first met Alex, hadn't been sanctioned either but they hadn't known that at the time they left.

"T'ink de Lieutenant-General will say yes?"

"He might not if he thinks I'm reluctant," Alex said as she took a sip of her iced tea. "Let him know that I've volunteered to go. And let him know also that if he doesn't okay it I will still go anyway—"

"Er, hate to break it to you Alex, but no, you're not." Clayton said firmly, laying his hand over Olivia's at her panicked start. "If official permission is not given, you will not leave." Olivia relaxed.

"Clayton, I am not one of your soldiers. You can't order me around. Yeah, I pretended to be one for the Velez fiasco, and then again with Broadview and Walker's court-martials, but I am not officially a soldier of the U.S. Army."

"Yes, you are. Alex, you're a very intelligent woman but you can be incredibly dense sometimes. Like now. Do you not remember what Lieutenant General Johnson said before the court-martials started? While the original purpose of the signed commission from him was to provide you with a cover identity so we could hide you until you were safe, that commission does make you a commissioned, serving officer in the US Army. If it didn't you'd never have been able to sit as Shana's co-Trial Counsel for those courts-martial—and we probably might not have gotten the conviction against Broadview if you hadn't, so believe me, I know we owe you. Shana may have passed her bar exams but even she would admit she's better with a sword than she is with words in a courtroom. So no, as your commanding officer, I'm telling you if this mission is not okayed you're not going to leave."

She looked frustrated.

"I will say, however, that I am going to try and talk Lieutenant General Johnson into this. While the US government has made a commitment not to get involved in the current state of affairs in Africa, we are a part of the UN and the UN's mission is a peacekeeping one. And while we aren't a part of the ICC anymore, the ICC is officially endorsed by the UN so I can make a recommendation to our higher-ups that we be allowed to escort you into the Congo. It will be a limited-scope engagement; just to find the ICC witnesses and get out, so it won't be lengthy and protracted. And you will stay safe if you're being escorted by us." He locked eyes across the table with Alex. "You'll abide by whatever decision the Lieutenant General and the Secretary of Defense makes."

She stared him down challengingly for a moment; he never blinked, never broke gaze. Finally she sighed and dropped her eyes, and he knew he'd won. "I'll abide by their decision."

"Good."

The briefing room was packed. Hawk scanned the room, looking at all the faces, all the people; friends, all of them, though some were a bit closer than others. He'd worked and served with these people for years and had a deep abiding respect for each one of them, which was why most of their special missions started with him asking them to volunteer. He could order them to do something, but this wasn't part of their regular duties and he wanted to give them the opportunity to choose.

"All right, people." At the sound of his voice the subdued murmuring quieted. He'd instructed Ettienne on the way back to base the night before to speak to no one, so this announcement was going to come as a complete surprise. "As most of you know, we were involved earlier this summer in an operation in the DRC which resulted in our acquisition of Private Cabot." A hint of amusement in his voice, which vanished with his next sentence. "Most of you are also aware that Private Cabot was pursuing volunteer prosecutorial work with the ICC. She received a letter from her former supervisor at the ICC yesterday informing her that some of the people she was trying to help, most specifically a pair of sibling children, were abducted when their village was razed two weeks ago by the same rogue militia faction that brutalized and attempted to murder Private Cabot this summer."

Murmurs rolled around the room, a sibilant whisper with a hint of anger under it. Hawk let it continue for a moment, then spoke again. "The letter Private Cabot received hinted at the fact that Lieutenant General Johnson has been made aware of this prior to this meeting, but as yet has not informed me of it. I plan on calling him later this morning and asking him about this. In the meantime, I do want to make you aware that the letter Prosecutor Donnelly sent Private Cabot requested her assistance, in tracking down and recovering these children, and I wanted to know what your opinion is on this before I ask the Lieutenant General about this."

"You're asking if we want to volunteer. If we want to go back and get the bastards who tortured and almost killed Private Cabot." Flint spoke from where he stood at parade rest beside Lady Jaye. "And my answer to this is yes."

"And me." Scarlett raised a hand from where she stood behind him.

Snake Eyes didn't have to say anything; his nod in Shana's direction indicated she spoke for both of them. From the back of the room, Recondo raised his hand too. Lady Jaye. Recoil. And especially Gung Ho.

Hawk sighed. "I thought you'd say that but I wasn't sure. All right. Thank you, all of you, for the vote of confidence and the spirit of cooperation. Dismissed. I'll let you all know as soon as I hear back from Lieutenant General Johnson."


	3. Chapter 3: Decision

**Chapter 3: Decision**

"Yes I knew about it." Lieutenant General Johnson's grim frown didn't bode well for the outcome of this conversation. "I deliberately didn't tell you about it because I didn't want you all to go."

Hawk braced himself for an argument. "All due respect. Sir. The request was made not as a military operation, but as a humanitarian one. These are children who have been captured by a rogue militia faction we know is fully capable of killing them…or worse." _Like Alex_, but he didn't say that; he could see the awareness of that unpleasant truth in Johnson's eyes. "The US has pulled out of the ICC but we are still a part of the UN, and humanitarian missions are part of what the US military is known for. Wherever there are disasters, loss of human life, we go in, we help restore peace and order and provide comfort and help to those most in need of it. The American military exists not to impose our will or to conquer other peoples but to provide help when asked and where needed. And there is no one who needs help more than these child orphans born in the middle of a war they neither asked for nor understand. Private Cabot is trying to do what she can to help them and keep them safe; can we do any less?"

"Damn it, Abernathy, I do not want to commit any more American lives, American soldiers, to a damn lost cause!" Johnson exploded. "_That_ is why I didn't tell you. That jungle is a hellhole and I do not want to order any more people to go out there! Your Warrant Officer and your Staff Sergeant almost died out there, as well as one damn stubborn lawyer who didn't have the brains God gave a gopher to stay out of a cesspool like the Congo!"

Hawk kept his face and voice steady even as he flinched inside. When someone at the rank of Lieutenant General frowned, someone was going to have a bad day. But when a Lieutenant General lost his temper to the point where he was shouting, heads usually rolled, and it could very well be his—or his project. "All due respect, Lieutenant General Johnson, you won't be ordering my people to go anywhere, or do anything. I have a team who wants to go, has in fact volunteered to go, who are willing to brave the dangers inherent in the DRC in order to save the lives of a handful of children who will likely die otherwise, and that stubborn lawyer is herself willing to go back into the jungle if it means she will have the opportunity to save these children. And you know as well as I do what happened to her the last time she went out there; out of all of us, she should be the one least willing to go back. She is, irregardless of the paperwork, not US military, not a trained soldier, but a civilian, a lawyer. If she herself is willing to risk her life, and perhaps much more, to save these children what would that say for our trained soldiers who trained for this, that they would not go where she is willing?" He softened his tone. "Lieutenant-General, I understand your reluctance to commit. But it doesn't have any weight here. You won't be ordering them, they volunteered. They want to go. And as their commanding officer, I am asking that you give them the freedom to follow their own hearts and their own honor, and let us go on this mission."

For long moments Johnson continued to frown darkly, and Hawk braced himself for a firestorm of criticism, for his commanding officer's anger. Instead after a tense silence, Johnson sighed and threw his hands in the air wearily. "Your people really feel this strongly about it." A statement, not a question, and it sounded like he already knew what Clayton was going to say.

"Sir, if they didn't I wouldn't be standing here arguing with you about it." Hawk allowed himself to breathe, cautiously. At least Johnson didn't look angry anymore. Maybe they would be able to get permission to go off on this mission? His orders and her promises to the contrary, he wasn't entirely sure that he would be able to keep Alex from going off on her own if she didn't have official permission to go along with this troop of soldiers back to the Congo, and he wasn't at all sure that he would be able to keep Gung Ho from going AWOL along with Alex Cabot if she left. If Johnson gave his okay to this mission it would simplify things immensely.

And Hawk knew his people wanted to go not only for the missing children but because of the unfinished business. They were too professional to say anything blatant, but if Zimurinda really was behind the kidnapping of Alex's young friends, Flint had a score to settle with the man, not only for Alex but for himself. Not that Flint would stoop to taking it out on the man by doing something dishonorable, but if the opportunity presented itself Flint would cheerfully arrest Zimurinda and haul the rogue leader to the ICC personally to stand trial for his crimes.

Not that Hawk would blame him. _Sorry 'bout your luck, but this is what you get for messing with America. Go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars._ Or whatever the currency unit was in the DRC. "Private Cabot herself says she is willing to go with a rescue team to get the missing witnesses out. And a handful of my soldiers have no problem with going either."

"Children. The missing witnesses are children. Prosecutor Donnelly was quite firm about that in her attempts to get us to agree to send a force in to help with witness recovery."

"Yes, they are children, but I didn't want to be unfairly prejudicial, Sir."

"Who wants to be fair?" Johnson grumbled, then scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "All right, when do you want to leave?"

That caught Hawk flat-footed. "Sir—don't you need permission from the Secretary of Defense or the President?"

"Major General Abernathy. We got this news a couple weeks ago in the form of a formal delegation that officially asked for our help. That request has been making its way through the upper levels of the Defense Department ever since. Don't mistake me for the late Major General Clancy, Abernathy—I may not be as directly involved with you as Clancy was but I am not insensitive to your needs, your desires, and your concerns. When the ICC prosecutor came to us and told us these child witnesses had been kidnapped I already knew your team would want to go back and finish what they started. I resisted because I personally don't want to see our soldiers killed in a fight between two rogue military factions, but if your people want to go out there and get themselves killed trying to defend a few children and one incredibly stubborn lawyer, well...I'm not going to congratulate you and your people for being stupid but I will condone the principles and honor behind the sentiment, and I wish your people well. How many will be going, who will be going, and when will you be leaving?"

"We haven't worked out the logistics yet, Lieutenant-General; I needed to know if my people were willing first, then I needed to know if you would be able to get permission. Now that I know we have permission I can work out the logistics of who will go, how long we'll be, and plan a strategy."

"Fine. Work out those details and get back to me as soon as you have them so I can tell Justice Donnelly that she can expect to see Private Cabot again." He softened. "How is she, Hawk? Really?"

"She's doing well. Still doing 'boring' prosecutorial work in a Manhattan courtroom, but she says she's just complaining because she's happy to have something to complain about." Johnson looked confused, and Clayton cracked a smile. "It doesn't make sense to me either, but it's apparently something written in female. Olivia seems to understand; she laughed at me and told me not to think about it too hard or my head will pop."

"Speaking of our favorite NYPD cop, how is she doing? Is she ready to pop yet?"

"She's in her last trimester and complaining all the time, but she's happy complaining so I just smile and nod and buy her chocolate when she starts complaining. It usually stems the tide."

Johnson tried hard to suppress the smile and failed. "When is she due?"

"The doctor says a month, so it should be around the beginning of January, first or second week."

Johnson grinned. "I can't wait to see what fatherhood's going to do to you."

Clayton rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you and everybody else on my base. My Staff Sergeant looks like the cat that ate a canary."

Johnson guffawed at that, and Hawk relaxed completely. So no one was going to be discharged or demoted. That was good. "All right, Abernathy. Go ahead and put a team together, get the logistics worked out, and I'll tell the Madam Prosecutor that she can expect Private Cabot and her personal bodyguard force to join them in the Congo."

"We have official permission to go?" Allie looked incredulously at Hawk. "That can't have been easy."

"Um. Less said on that subject the better." Hawk slumped into his chair at the head of the conference room table, glared at his senior staff—at Flint and Gung Ho in particular. "All right, I know you two are going. Who else?"

"I'll go—" Lady Jaye started.

"No," Flint said flatly. "You're not."

"Ex_cuse_ me?" Allie turned to look at him, her brown eyes going stony. "Dashiell Faireborn, you are _not_ telling me what I can or can't do."

"Dashiell Faireborn isn't. Warrant Officer Faireborn is." Flint didn't back down. "Staff Sergeant Hart-Burnett, you were injured earlier this summer. Don't tell me you aren't still feeling it because you haven't been as accurate with your javelins as you usually are. And if you are not a hundred percent I do not want you out there." His tone was hard, but his eyes begged her to understand.

She stared at him a moment longer, just long enough to make Hawk sweat a little. "Fine," she snapped finally. "Then Scarlett isn't going."

"Scarlett is going so Scarlett can keep Alex from doing something stupid." Shana stared at Allie. Allie met her gaze squarely. Something unspoken passed between the two women, and Lady Jaye nodded finally. "Besides, Lady Jaye," Scarlett added just as the men dared to breathe again, "I don't know how long we're going to be gone, and Clayton and Liv are going to need help when August—little Auggie—comes."

"Is that the name you two picked out? August? That's cute." Allie was instantly smiles, and the air in the conference room cleared.

"So. Flint, Gung Ho, Scarlett, White Queen. Who else? Oh. Snake Eyes." There was no question about that. Where Scarlett went, Snake Eyes would also. Perhaps not on a domestic mission, but an overseas, international mission—yes, Snake Eyes was definitely going.

Recondo and Brawler raised their hands from the back of the room and Hawk grinned, nodded. Their two jungle experts. Good. Recoil raised his hand; while they already had a weapons expert on the team, Gung Ho, it couldn't hurt to have more firepower, so Hawk nodded.

"Can I make a suggestion?" Allie leaned forward. "Call Cam and Charlie—Polaris and Spirit- and see if they want in."

"Cam and Charlie?"

"Spirit's a tracker/navigator and Polaris is a navigator/first-aid expert, and she's also RRD, reconnaissance detachment. Her military operating specialty is recon in strange territory forward of the front line of troops. With Spirit's tracking ability, Polaris' navigation and survival skills, and Recondo and Brawler's jungle expertise, if it becomes necessary to operate in two teams both teams will have the survival skills necessary to make it out intact."

It made sense. "Well, I guess, I mean, I hate to interrupt their honeymoon—"

As soon as he said it he realized he shouldn't, because Allie narrowed her eyes at him. "Ex_cuse_ me," she said, the same dangerous tone she'd spoke to Flint in a few moments earlier. "They are on their_ honeymoon? _They got _married_? And we didn't _know_?" Beside her, Shana glared at him too.

"Um. Cam let _me_ know." She'd known him longer than she'd known the Joes, so it hadn't occurred to him that she might not have told Allie or Shana yet. He held up a hand. "Look. It's her life, she can tell whoever she wants to. Charlie's parents apparently visited the Cattaraugus County Iroquois reservation on Thanksgiving and they decided to get married while his parents were there, a private Native American traditional ceremony for the Native American half of their heritage. Cam said when they got back here they'd get properly married in a 'white man's ceremony' to appease the rest of us."

"I'm going to have a few words with her." Allie folded her arms and sat back, and Hawk breathed a sigh and sat back. Let Cam deal with Allie being upset because she hadn't been told.

"All right." Flint cleared his throat, hiding a grin behind his hand until Allie glared at him, after which he straightened up and became poker-faced. "So pending Charlie and Cam joining us, we have a team of ten. Let's plan for contingencies now; I'll head team A, with Snake Eyes, Recoil, Recondo and Spirit; Gung Ho, you're my second on this mission, you'll head Team B with Scarlett, White Queen, Brawler and Polaris. Scarlett, Snake Eyes, I know the two of you would normally be on the same team, but I need one leader, one hand-to-hand combat expert, one survival expert, and one jungle expert on each team, so—" he shrugged helplessly.

"It's okay," There was a hint of laughter in Scarlett's eyes. "We got it." Beside her, Snake Eyes nodded affirmatively. It was enough they were on the same mission; they understood not being on the same team. It wasn't always possible, and it wasn't like Flint was playing favorites; he split Cam and Charlie up, and they were married. "We're not going to split up unless it's absolutely necessary, right?"

"I don't like splitting up in hostile territory, but…look at what happened the last time. We will hope we don't have to but we'll plan as if we are." Flint leaned forward, touched the switch on the holographic map table they were sitting around, and cued up a map of the southern half of the Democratic Republic of Congo. "The intel we have is that Keshero was raided, so that's where we're going to set up our FOB. We'll camp here and send out a couple of tracking teams to try and pick up any traces of where they could have been taken, though I doubt there will be anything because as I understand it, it's the middle of the rainy season there. But we can try. Depending on what we find there we can either establish Keshero as our FOB or we can move it as necessary to follow the track of the children and the militia forces that have them.

"No subterfuge like there was last time; it's not necessary. We pack all our gear, arm ourselves to the teeth, and fly a military transport to Goma Airport; there's enough space there to land a transport if memory serves me right, and we can ask Alex tomorrow if there's any uncertainty. We pack three Humvees—I want to have enough room if we have to take sick or wounded children, and I want to stuff each vehicle with as much armament as possible and as many medical supplies as we can carry. If someone gets hurt on this trip we will have enough medical supplies to get them home. We are not going through what we went through last time on the return trip from the Congo." Emphatic nods, especially from Gung Ho; they all remembered, vividly, Alex crying in agony in the back of their transport on the way home earlier that summer because they'd run out of painkillers and they couldn't stop for more.

"I also want limits on this. There's a chance that those children could be dead by now; if we don't find a trace of them within two weeks of being there, we pack up and we come home. Gung Ho, I need your help on this—White Queen is so damn stubborn she could stay there the rest of her life looking for those kids. We're not going to get suckered by that; if we don't find a trace of them in two weeks we come home even if we have to knock her out and strap her down, are we all agreed?" Nods around the table. "Good. General Hawk, if you can call Polaris and Spirit this afternoon and get their okay, then you can give Lieutenant General Johnson the personnel list tomorrow morning. They can be back here by noon tomorrow, and we can call Alex in tomorrow evening. We can debrief the morning after—Thursday morning—and be in Goma by Friday night. Are we all agreed?"

Everyone nodded, and Hawk grinned as chairs were pushed back and people got up. Flint was a terrifyingly efficient organizer; when he wanted to get something done, it got done.

He sighed as he got up. Time for him to get his part done—call the honeymooners.


	4. Chapter 4: Western New York

**Chapter 4: Western New York**

The wind howled and rattled around the tiny cottage, pushing snow in drifts around the door. Inside, however, it was anything but cold.

"No, no, not like that. Left foot, Charlie, left foot, step back, right foot, step back, turn…whoa!" She grabbed his arm just in time to keep him from toppling off balance off his right foot. "Charlie, how is it you can stalk through the woods with the greatest of ease as silent as a wolf, but you can't manage a simple dance step?"

"One,I don't dance. Two, it's a whole different skill set, Cam. Three, I don't dance." He would have gone on but she held up a hand.

"All right, I got it. But you know if we're going to get married at base in a traditional white man's ceremony for all of our base friends we're going to be expected to dance."

"We're already married. I don't see why we have to do it again." He pouted—which just made him look cuter to her, and he knew it, and she grinned at him as she stepped in close and kissed him, long and deep.

"Besides the fact that if we want to be legally married in the eyes of the white man we have to have a marriage license because Native marriages aren't officially recognized by the government, there's also the fact that Allie and Shana threatened us with dire harm if we didn't let them know we were getting married and have them attend the ceremony. And Scarlett is perfectly capable of following through on her threat and making you feel her displeasure—on the point of her sword if need be."

Charlie sighed theatrically. "Fine. As long as you're happy."

She looked up at him, suddenly unsure. "Charlie…please…if you aren't…"

He hated that bruised, uncertain look in her eyes and mentally chewed himself out for putting it there. For all her skills and talents, for all her confidence and the progress she'd made in her emotional recovery, he was still forcibly reminded sometimes that she'd been through a lot in her twenty-five years and there were still emotional vulnerabilities that only time, patience, and love from him would help her overcome. So he swept her in his arms, kissed her gently, lovingly. "I was joking, sweetheart," he said softly. "Whatever you want is fine with me. All I really want is for you to be happy."

She kissed him back. "And what will make me happy is getting married for all our friends at Joe base. And so that Shana won't pound me into the mat when I train with her—she has a way of getting me right where she wants me."

"Like I," kiss, "can get you," kiss, "right where I want you?" He punctuated his words with a trail of hot kisses from the corner of her mouth down the side of her neck and further, pushing aside the collar of the soft, worn, shapeless button-down flannel shirt she wore so he could reach the spot on her chest where her skin ended and her scars began. She didn't have much feeling on the scarred expanse of skin, burned by fire, but he'd discovered over the last month or so of their leave-turned-honeymoon that the untouched skin just above the scar tissue was extremely sensitive and he could get her hot just by kissing her there.

He distracted her from the unwanted dance lesson by kissing her, then licking and nibbling a little further down, until she pressed herself against him, her hands coming urgently up to the buttons on his shirt. When the phone rang he said shortly, "Don't answer it."

She giggled as she ducked under his arm (it wasn't hard, since he was about six feet and she was barely five four) and raced across the living room to the low coffee table where the telephone was. He tackled her halfway there and she screamed with laughter as they rolled over on the huge bear-fur rug in front of her fireplace, ending with him flat on his back and her kneeling astride his hips. He groaned in sheer pleasure as her hands came up to caress him...then he sat up indignantly as she reached for the phone on the table just above his head. "Arlington," she said briskly into the receiver even as she tucked it under her cheek so she could keep her hands moving. "Oh. Hi, General Hawk." She smiled wickedly down at Charlie. "Oh, not doing anything special. There's a blizzard raging outside so we decided to keep busy." Her fingertips massaged his broad chest muscles, and he almost moaned at the sheer pleasure of it. "What? Oh, yeah, Charlie's here, he's just…a little occupied." Charlie knew Hawk could hear the smile in her voice. "Would you like to talk to him?"

She handed him the receiver and he had no choice but to take it. "Good afternoon," and he almost forgot what else he had to say as Cam started kneading a stiff muscle group. "…Hawk."

Clayton frowned; Charlie could almost hear him frown. "Are you okay? You sound a little…odd."

It was very, very hard to concentrate on talking to his commanding officer when Cam's hands were doing _those_ things to him. "Um…yeah. I'm fine," he managed to gasp out. "Just…a little busy." And if Cam was going to keep doing that… "Here, my hands are kind of full," yeah, wrapped around Cam's thighs as he kept her from moving until she finished that massage, it felt so damn good! "…talk to Cam." And he pressed the phone to her ear.

She wasn't even flustered, damn her; her voice was perfectly composed. "Hi, Clayton." Just to get revenge on her, he started to work the large muscles in her thighs with his hands. Her lips parted in a silent gasp of pleasure, and her eyes closed in bliss even as her voice remained steady. "A mission? To where?" A moment of silence.

"I'll answer that one for him. Of course we want in. A chance to get away from the snow and blizzard and cold up here and go do some good…of course we're coming. When do you want us back?" A moment more of silence as she listened to Hawk talk, a moment in which both their hands kept up a steady massage, working what muscle groups they could reach all over each other's body, and all he could think of was to _get Hawk off the phone now_ so she could stretch out and he could work on that tight back muscle. "Okay, we'll be there tomorrow afternoon. Gotcha. Thanks for the heads-up, Clayton. Bye."

She hung up the phone and Charlie took that as his signal to roll to a sitting position, then to push her over on her stomach and start working on the large flat muscle groups of her back. "You naughty little minx…"

"Yeah, but you love this naughty little minx!" And of course there was no way he could argue with that, so he didn't even try as he leaned down, let his lips claim hers hungrily.

They dozed on the bear-fur rug for a little while afterward; it was almost dark by the time Charlie finally stirred himself enough to switch on the small lamp at the end of the coffee table and looked down at his wife, snuggled next to him on the fur of the bear she'd killed herself years ago. "What was that all about?"

"Clayton wanted to know if we were up for a mission. He said he was sorry for interrupting us on our honeymoon but it was important and he needed the best."

"What does he want us for?"

"An overseas mission, humanitarian. A country called the Congo, some warring militia faction raided a village of witnesses the UN needed for a war crimes trial and killed the adults and kidnapped the children. He wants to send a team in to try and track the children, figure out where they'd gone and try to get them back."

"The Congo? But that's where—what did you tell him?"

"I told him of course we'd come back to base for this. A chance to get away from the blizzard up here, the cold and the snow, and go tramping around in the jungle—of course we'd go." She was looking at him, her forehead furrowed in slight puzzlement. "Why so worried? It didn't sound like a big deal to me."

"The Congo is where we first met Alex Cabot…and where she almost died." He briefly proceeded to tell her as much of the story as he could without breaking the classified rule; Alex had gone into the jungle to get testimony from a couple of witnesses and they'd been detailed as her escort; how she and Flint had been captured by the militia faction and had barely made it out alive; how she'd spent months in their infirmary first comatose and barely alive, then the long, difficult road to recovery. He couldn't tell her the whole story; about Clancy, about the massive conspiracy Scarlett and Snake Eyes had discovered was orchestrated by a corrupt Colombian druglord, about Clayton and Olivia's capture and their desperate gamble to get them back that ended with Velez's death and their secret medal ceremony at the White House. "There's actually a lot more to the story than that, but most of it is classified. I'm pretty sure that they'll tell you the whole story in the briefing tomorrow afternoon when we get back to base but I can't tell you that right now." She nodded; she understood the rules about classified missions.

"So Alex went through hell there and she's going back? I'd have thought that she'd stay as far away from the place as possible."

"I'm not intimately aware of all the details so the mission briefing is going to have some information that will probably be new to me as well, but since she was there originally as a prosecutor for the International Criminal Court, I'm guessing the 'village of witnesses' that they were talking about may have been people who were personally significant to her. And Hawk did mention children, and you know how Liv and Alex work with abused children in the New York criminal courts. She probably knew some of the children that were taken when the village was raided."

"She probably does, I didn't think about that." Cam stretched lazily on the fur, then got up, grabbing her clothes lying in a forgotten heap at the edge of the fur. "Okay. I guess I'll start packing tonight, and we'll leave tomorrow morning in order to be there by noon. I guess our honeymoon's over." Then she paused. "But…if we get married in a white man's ceremony later on, the military does allow leave for a honeymoon for their officer s so we'd get another honeymoon."

Charlie froze as he realized that. "You're right. Okay, so I guess I can see the purpose to having to get married…again." She giggled at him and started for the bedroom. Maybe it was his imagination, but as she walked away from him her hips acquired a certain sway, and he grinned as he grabbed his clothes and hurried after her. As much as they enjoyed their time up here, it would be good to get back to base, their second home, to see their friends again and get back to the business they'd been trained to do.

They slipped into a hot shower together. It was becoming almost a ritual with them, after a good massage they would hit the shower together, wash each other's hair and bodies and just enjoy the simple touch; a tender moment in the hectic pace of their lives. After the shower Charlie grabbed the bottle of scar lotion and applied it, as per their ritual, to the scar tissue on her body.

When he'd first seen the practically unused bottle of lotion sitting in her bathroom he'd wondered what it was for. After some discreet research he found out that it was to restore elasticity to scar tissue, particularly in cases where the scar tissue covered large portions of a body, which, in Cam's case, was sixty-five percent, the injury sustained when she'd set fire to the cabin in which she'd been held captive. Doc had prescribed it for Cam in the aftermath of the court martial held at the end of the SERE training course she'd completed at the end of summer with General Hawk, but Cam had largely ignored it; as she explained to Charlie, she didn't have time, she couldn't reach around her back to apply it there, and she simply didn't want to look at her body while she was doing it, didn't want to remember.

Charlie understood that she avoided it because she didn't want to remember, but he also understood that Doc wouldn't have given it to her and instructed her to put it on after a shower without a reason, so he'd instituted the practice of taking a shower with her, then carrying her out of it, laying her out flat on the bed, and putting it on for her. The first time he'd done it, she'd protested, and he relented until he realized that her protests were because she thought she was ugly and thought that meant he would think she was ugly too.

He'd admitted to her that yes, the first time he'd seen the extensive scar tissue that started at her knees, covered her thighs and most of her torso except for one breast and stopped at her arms, he'd been shocked and horrified, but it had been for the pain he knew she'd endured. He had never, once, thought of her as ugly; the scars were a symbol of her strength of will, her bravery, and her courage; he no longer saw her scars, just as Shana no longer saw Snake Eyes' facial scars, as Ettienne no longer saw Alex Cabot's scars. They were simply a part of her, just as her thick blue-black hair was.

She'd grinned and stopped protesting, and just enjoyed the simple touch as his hands applied the scar lotion over her scar tissue. And he'd understood why Doc had recommended it to her; with now-regular application, the lotion was gradually restoring some suppleness to her skin, and when she danced there was no more cracking around the edges where scar tissue met regular skin. Not so much around her knees where the scarring started, but around her shoulders, arms, and breast when she arched her back or raised her arms while dancing. Although she never complained that it hurt, he'd winced when he saw the traces of blood.

That done, they slipped robes on and commenced packing. They were both soldiers, and they both traveled light; three changes of duty uniform, one set of dress uniforms, dress shoes to go with that as well as a couple pairs of off-duty shoes (Charlie smiled to himself as he saw her light-pink ballet shoes disappear into her bag as well as her split-sole dancing sneakers) and a few changes of regular clothes. Cam didn't really like anything heavy and confining; she owned maybe one pair of jeans. Everything else was sweats and knits, and her shirts were loose and generously sized. He'd asked her, once, about that; she'd admitted that heavy fabrics chafed her scarred skin and were uncomfortable, and except for her leotard and tights, she didn't wear anything close-fitting, which he understood. She also had plain, serviceable underthings, nothing frilly, lacy, or sexy. Although he would have loved to see her in something pretty, he knew that while she'd been held captive by her aunt and uncle she'd been forced to wear provocative underclothing to appeal to the pedophiles she was rented to, and she hated the stuff now, so he never pushed it.

Shana had warned him that it was going to take very long time before she wanted to dress up in something nice for him in the bedroom, and he'd replied to her that it didn't matter; she could do as much or as little as she wanted to. The scars on her soul ran deeper than the ones on her body, and it would take a long time to heal…maybe even a lifetime. He was willing to give her that if it meant she would heal. Shana had simply smiled, nodded, and left him alone.

Packing done, they both went to bed.


	5. Chapter 5: Return

**Chapter 5: Return**

"Good morning, Lieutenant General Johnson."

Johnson smiled at Hawk from the other end of their videophone connection. "Good morning. I figured I'd be hearing from you today."

"It didn't really take long to figure out who wanted to go to the DRC with Alex," Hawk admitted as he opened the file folder in front of him. "A lot of my soldiers felt like there was some unfinished business left unresolved; it kind of hadn't really felt like it was over. Not yet, anyway."

"I hoped it was." Johnson sighed. "Hawk, I have to tell you that not everyone in the upper echelons are entirely happy with this decision to go back. And foremost among them was the President. He, frankly, thinks Alex is absolutely insane for wanting to go back, and although the First Lady herself supports Alex's determination to end the problem once and for all, I don't think she's managed to convince President Whitmore."

"But he did say it was okay, right?" Clayton froze.

"Yes, he did but he wasn't happy about it. And he did seriously consider saying no. His exact words were "I guess I'd better say yes because if I don't she's liable to go AWOL from her unit and I don't think she would survive being out there alone to court-martial when she got back." Despite the grimness of the situation, Hawk couldn't—quite—suppress a smile, which he saw was shared with Johnson. "I rather get the feeling that he was right."

"I'm certain he was right." Hawk didn't see a reason to keep this from Johnson. "And I can't be entirely certain I wouldn't lose at least one of my other officers too; Ettienne LaFitte would follow her to the Congo if she had to go alone."

"Which is why she's going with your unit. Who are you taking?"

"We're taking a rather large group," Hawk warned as he leaned forward. "My Warrant Officer said he wants to take enough people that if splitting up the team became necessary, the complement of the extraction team for the children would have all the same skill sets as the cover team so that both would have equal chances to get out safely."

"Good strategy. So how many actually are going?"

"Ten. Two teams of five each. The cover team is Warrant Officer Dashiell Faireborn, Specialist Charlie Ironknife, Master Sergeant Snake Eyes, Corporal Daniel LeClaire, and Sergeant Joseph Felton, he's also an LRRP specialist like Cam Arlington. The ones who will be on the extraction team, assigned to the children, are Marine Gunnery Sergeant Ettienne LaFitte, Private Alexandra Cabot, Master Sergeant Shana O'Hara, Corporal Cameron Arlington, and Sergeant Brian Mulholland, also a jungle expert.."

"I thought Corporal Arlington was on medical leave and Specialist Ironknife was on furlough."

Hawk sighed. "I wanted the best I had for this. I called Corporal Arlington because she's the best navigator/first aid/survival expert I have besides Specialist Ironknife."

"But you added both their names in there."

"They're both coming."

"Uh, back up there, Abernathy. They went on leave together?"

Hawk braced himself yet again. "Arlington is a Corporal and Ironknife is a Specialist, which puts both of them at roughly the same rank. Fraternization between the two of them then becomes a matter of personal choice and not a matter for military discipline." He held his breath.

Johnson was frowning. "Isn't Corporal Arlington the one that got in that mess with Immigration this fall?"

"Yes."

"And part of that mess was because she had surgery on certain parts of her anatomy."

"Yes."

"Should she even be…?"

Hawk bristled. "All due respect. Sir. That issue is not one that we should be discussing. That's private and should be kept between Arlington, her husband, and her doctor."

Johnson pounced on that. "Husband? They are married?"

Hawk sighed. "Not officially."

"What do you mean, not officially?"

"Native ceremonies are not officially recognized by the US government."

"Are you going to acknowledge that they're married when they get back?"

Hawk froze. He hadn't considered that. Was he? "Yes." While it might not be legally okay in the eyes of the government, he sure as hell wasn't going to treat them as single and assign them separate quarters. "Marriage isn't defined by a piece of paper, Lieutenant General. It's two people making a commitment to each other." Although, now that Johnson mentioned it, maybe he should set aside a larger room for Shana and Snake Eyes. It was a wonder the two of them weren't married already; they certainly were committed enough. And Allie and Dash.

Johnson's next words caught him completely by surprise. "So when are you going to get married to that NYPD cop who's having your son?"

Hawk collected himself quickly. "Johnson, Liv and I both talked about it and neither one of us wants to get married just for the sake of it. She's perfectly capable of being a single mother, and at the moment having a wife, particularly a civilian one, will be…a bit complicated. Just because we aren't married doesn't mean I'm not going to be there for her when she needs me."

"Weren't you supposed to go take her North to meet your parents for the holiday season?"

"I was, but plans changed. I can't leave while half my base is gone to the Congo. Flint determined that if they haven't found a trace of the missing children within two weeks, they'll pack up and leave, and White Queen has agreed to abide by those rules, so they should be back by Christmas and well in time for me to get Liv up to Denver to meet my parents." He put a slight edge in his voice to let Johnson know this line of questioning wasn't really welcome.

Johnson got the message. "Okay, I'll butt out, It's not really any of my business anyway." Hawk let out the breath he'd been holding. "All right, so how are you getting there and what are you going to do?"

"Flint wants to take a C4 to Goma airport. The transport will be loaded with three Jeeps stuffed with as much artillery as they'll safely hold…and as much medical supplies as they can manage. Everyone was emphatically adamant about not going through a repeat of what happened the last time." Hawk could still vividly see the image of Alex being brought into Doc's infirmary for the first time, comatose and near death, her body so physically mutilated that Shana had thrown up when she saw the blond lawyer. "They'll establish an FOB at Keshero, then Polaris , Recoil and Spirit are going to put together tracking teams and start looking for traces of the missing children. If they find something they'll pursue that lead; if they don't find anything they'll leave in two weeks. White Queen has agreed to those terms…and I do think she'll stick with them."

"And if they do find them?"

"Every effort will be made to free the children from the rogue militia faction. We have agreed that, if possible, we would like to capture the rogue responsible—Lieutenant Colonel Innocent Zimurinda. He's wanted by the ICC for war crimes and if we can bring him in he'll be tried in their court."

Johnson leaned forward. "Listen to me carefully, Hawk. If the only way to free these children is to use deadly force, your people are hereby authorized to make that decision. You may not be aware of this, but after the collapse of Velez's cartel Zimurinda sent out feelers to try and find another bankroller for his operation, and he managed to find one. Someone is financially backing him in exchange for human slaves trafficked out of the DRC. DHS, CIA, FBI, ATF, and DEA haven't been able to find out much except that he's male, white and very, very rich, and he's positioned himself at the heart of the human trafficking out of Africa. We need intel about this figure."

"I understand completely." Hawk managed to keep a straight face while inside he was almost frozen in shock. Deadly force was almost never authorized on their special missions, due to the need to maintain plausible deniability and leave little trace they were ever there. Body counts had to be kept to a minimum; the CIA and FBI must really want Zimurinda dead if his team was being given permission to kill him if it became necessary. And this mysterious human trafficker…"I will inform my people. If we come across any information about this mysterious new trafficker, we'll certainly let you know."

"All right. I'll have a C4 transport waiting at Fort Hamilton tomorrow morning for your team of ten and three Humvees. Good luck, Major General Abernathy."

"Thank you, Sir. I have a feeling we might need it."

"Welcome home!"

That indecorous shout came from Courtney, who sprinted across the garage bay to greet Cam and Charlie as the two returning Joes got out of Charlie's Jeep. Cam dropped her duffel and regulation-issue pack and hugged the blond tank jockey enthusiastically, then snapped a salute as Lady Jaye and Scarlett strolled up with Flint, Snake Eyes, and Hawk in tow. "Corporal Cameron Arlington reporting for duty!"

"At ease, soldier." Hawk nodded to her, and she relaxed her stance, picking up her pack and duffel as Charlie came up beside her. "Welcome back, Charlie, Cam."

Charlie snapped a salute. "Specialist Charlie Ironknife reporting for duty, General."

Shana put her hands on her hips. "You have some explaining to do," she said accusingly. "How come you two didn't tell us you were getting married?"

"It was a kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing," Cam looked slightly sheepish, but she was glowing with happiness. "Charlie's parents visited us on the reservation a few weeks ago over Thanksgiving, and we knew that if we got married here they wouldn't be able to come because of the rules, so we sort of decided to have a traditional ceremony for the Native side of our heritage and then have an official regular ceremony here for the rest of you." She looked sidelong at Allie. "I understand that Native ceremonies aren't officially recognized as lawful marriages by the US government, so technically we aren't married—"

"You don't honestly think we're going to pay attention to that particular detail, do you?" Allie broke in sarcastically. "It doesn't matter where you got married, or how. The fact is that you are married and we are not going to split you two up. Now I will say that we never anticipated having married couples on base so we don't technically have bedrooms big enough for the two of you—at least, nothing on the size of the room Jennifer Aiennatha said your tribe built for you…but we did find something sort of suitable." She turned on her heel. "Follow me. You got here a little earlier than I expected, but that's okay; you'll have time to drop off your things, unpack, and grab lunch in the mess with us before the briefing this afternoon." She looked searchingly at Charlie. "You did give her a short form briefing?"

"I gave her what details I could about the special mission to the Congo from earlier this summer. Most of it is classified but I did tell her about Alex and why these children in the Congo are important to her."

"Good. Cam, I know you have questions, but they'll be answered in the briefing this afternoon. Hawk's decided that everyone who's going on this special mission is going to need to know all the details so he's releasing the information under the usual nondisclosure agreements. You'll have to sign one before the briefing this afternoon." Allie was already moving, her rangy stride leading them out of the garage bay and down the halls to the lift that would take them to the living levels of the Joes' underground base. As she stepped on she watched Cam carefully as the younger woman also got on; after her experiences in prison earlier that fall Allie and Shana had worried slightly about the possibility that Cam would be claustrophobic and therefore unable to tolerate living at Joe base, but Cam showed no sign of discomfort and she and Shana blew out a tense breath and shared a quiet look across the elevator. So claustrophobia wasn't going to be a problem, thank God.

They'd chosen a room down at the end of one hallway; Cam stopped as they approached it. "Wait. Isn't this where you held Walker? The brig?"

"Since he was being held in close confinement, it was deemed necessary to give him a larger room. This was the women's quarters originally, before we got so many girls that we outgrew this wing. The room you're getting now was mine when I first got here, back when I was still the only woman on base." Shana grinned at Hawk, strolling behind them. "Clayton was under the impression that a woman needed more space so he stuck me down here until I convinced him that that I neither wanted nor expected to be treated any differently." She pushed open the door with a flourish. "Welcome to the first quarters here at Joe base set up for a married couple."

Although Cam expected that because it had been the brig and Anthony Walker had been held here, it was going to remind her uncomfortably of Walker and his assault on her, when she walked in the room seemed warm and inviting, cozy without feeling confining. The bed, while not as big as the one at her cottage, was large enough that enjoying an evening with Charlie wouldn't be a problem, and she knew he was thinking the same thing as he dropped his pack on the bed. "This will be fine, Allie, Shana," Cam said cheerfully, because both women seemed anxious and a little uncertain about whether the arrangements they'd deliberated over were going to be adequate for Charlie and Cam. They didn't get many women wanting to join the Joes, and for a long time it had been just Shana and Allie and Courtney, and their hesitation had as much to do with wondering if she could accept them as it was if they could accept her.

She gave both women a hug. "All right. Let Charlie and I get unpacked, and we'll see you in the mess hall."

After having been gone a month and a half, she wondered if people would remember her, but Charlie squeezed her hand as they approached the noisy officers' mess. "It's okay. They still remember you." And when they walked in, suddenly it was like they'd never left.

"CHARLIE!" And suddenly Charlie was overwhelmed by a huge hug from his best friend, Frank Talltree, a fellow Navajo from New Mexico. "Been ages since I saw you! And Cam!" Cam got a second, just as enthusiastic hug. "How are you doing?" Then he stepped back, took aim, and punched Charlie none-too-gently on the arm. "You got married! And you didn't tell me! I'm your best friend, how could you not?"

"Hey, easy," Charlie said placatingly. "It was a spur of the moment thing, my parents came up to visit while we were at Cam's reservation and I know they can't come here for a wedding because of the no civilians rule so we had a traditional Native ceremony over Thanksgiving. Of course we're going to have a regular wedding here at base for all of our base friends."

"You'd better," Frank threatened just as Allie, Shana and Courtney came up to them and grabbed Cam's arm.

"You two go talk. We have to gossip and catch up." Shana grabbed Cam's arm firmly and steered Cam toward a table in the corner. Cam gave Charlie a deprecating smile, shrugged, and allowed herself to be led away. Charlie just grinned and headed for another table with Frank.

As soon as they got to the girls' table Shana dropped the jovial demeanor and became serious. "Are you sure you're going to be okay with the quarters? Allie and I kind of wondered after being in ICE detention if you were going to be able to work here if you're claustrophobic."

"Nope. Not going to be a problem," Cam said serenely, sitting down at the table as Allie passed over a tray.

"So are you a hundred percent? Flint's not taking Allie this time because her shoulder's still bothering her after the gunshot wound this summer. If you're not a hundred percent you're not going to go."

"I'm perfectly fine!" Cam sounded exasperated as she took her first bite of food. "Fine enough to kill a bear on Thanksgiving Day!"

"You killed a bear?" This I have to hear!" Courtney exclaimed, and Cam sighed and told them the story until the bell rang for the end of mess.

The next thing they heard was Hawk's voice on the speaker. "Will all current special mission members for Operation Extraction please report to briefing one?"

"Here we go." Joking and levity were over as nine Joes got up from the mess hall tables, deposited their trays in the trash, and headed for the main briefing room.


	6. Chapter 6: Briefing

**Chapter 6: Briefing**

"All right, people, listen up."

Flint called the meeting to order. "All right. Before we get into strategy, I want to brief everyone on what this mission will entail and what we are going to be doing. As a precursor to that, I'm going to have to reveal details about the classified mission earlier this summer that brought Private Cabot," he nodded to Alex sitting quietly at the end of the table, "to us. And in order to do that, I have to have your written assurance that you will not divulge these details to anyone not inside this room. I am aware that on an enclosed base like this it is hard to keep secrets, and it is not a secret that Private Cabot became a member of our organization as a result of this summer's operation but some relevant details are highly classified and must remain secret. So if you'll please grab the pens in front of you, sign the nondisclosure form in front of your seat and pass them up the table to me, we'll proceed."

Silence except for the scratching of pens and the rustle of paper as everyone signed the familiar nondisclosure forms and passed them up the table to Flint. It wasn't uncommon for procedures like this to preface a mission briefing, or even a mission debriefing either; they were used to it and they understood.

Flint waited until the papers were in one neat pile in front of him and the pens were in another, then quietly detailed the events of the summer for those who hadn't been privileged to go through it. He, White Queen, Scarlett, Snake Eyes, and Gung Ho had been intimately connected with the entire summer, from Clancy's call that started it all to the secret medal ceremony at the White House; but Recondo and Brawler knew only about the escort mission that brought Alex to Joe base, Recoil and Spirit knew only about the aftermath, and Polaris knew none of it at all.

His voice was the only one in the room as he described the trip to the Congo, their journey through it; the villages they had stopped at along the way, Alex's friendships with the natives, Gung Ho's kindness to Shandi in making improvised braces with which she could walk. Then the village of Nzoka, that last, fateful, horrible day when the village was raided and Flint and Alex had been captured. He refused to go into details about the actual POW experience, saying only that it was not something that he wanted to get into and it wasn't a concern except insofar as they were determined not to let it happen again; but Alex's shoulders hunched slightly, and they all saw Ettienne's hand give hers a reassuring squeeze.

Flint then took up the thread of the story detailing Scarlett and Snake Eyes' operation in the halls of the ICC, their encounter with the orchestrator of the entire operation, Cesar Velez and Sandra Velasquez, their 'capture' and eventual escape, hop-scotching to airports around Europe to elude possible followers and finally home.

Then the unveiling of the conspiracy surrounding General Clancy, Clayton and Olivia's kidnapping that necessitated involvement of Lieutenant General Johnson and the Secretary of Defense. The decision from the President himself that authorized that last mission to Colombia, to face Velez; Ettienne's capture and torture that forced Alex into that last, fateful confrontation. He had beaten her but she had killed him. They had returned to Joe base, but the Secretary of Defense had asked them to attend a debriefing at the white House, to which they'd gone. As a result of that trip commendations had been handed out to everyone under Hawk's command, with special medals given to Alex and Olivia that had wrapped up the whole mess. Clayton had been given a medal and been recommended for special training, which was when he'd met Cam at Camp Mackall.

There was silence after he was done. They'd all known about it, but so much had happened in the last ten months or so that some of the details had been lost. The sober recitation of events reminded them all of it, and it was all new to Cam, who finally broke the silence as she looked at Alex. "Goddess, Alex. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." Alex's eyes were clear. "I'm not. I hate that it happened but I have met an amazing bunch of people who I now consider my friends and I wouldn't have it any other way." Her hand took Ettienne's, resting beside hers on the table; he smiled as he captured it with his, which exchange Flint decided to discreetly ignore.

"All right," and he cleared his throat to bring them all back to the matters at hand. "So what he have now is an official request by the UN and ICC combined. Lieutenant Colonel Innocent Zimurinda, the man responsible for Alex's near murder in the Congo, has raided the UN-protected village that Shandi and her brother lived in. According to Prosecutor Donnelly with the ICC, the adults were all killed and the children are missing, presumably in the hands of those militia monsters.

"They have asked for White Queen's help in going into the jungle to search for the children. These children know her, they are familiar with her, and most importantly, they trust her. In a region full of people with weapons, they would be reluctant to trust us if not for her, therefore her participation in this operation is necessary. However, and I believe that this opinion is very much in the majority, White queen's safety is of paramount importance and we will not have a repeat of this summer's deplorable incidents. We will be taking a C4 transport to Goma International Airport; on that transport will be three Humvees loaded with artillery and medical supplies. We're going to set up an FOB at Keshero, then Recoil, Polaris, and Spirit will put together two-person teams to check the surrounding jungle for any traces of the missing children. Please be aware that we are currently in the middle of the rainy season in the Congo, and that is going to make tracking and navigation even harder. Added to that, intelligence community intel has it that a new player has appeared on stage in Africa and has taken over Velez's human trafficking business, so chances are even if the children are still alive, they may no longer be in Africa, sold around the world. Shandi is also crippled, her legs broken and she is unable to walk without braces, so there is a chance that she could be dead by now, shot by her captors if she couldn't keep up. I'm sorry to be so blunt about it, White Queen, but we need to be prepared for every eventuality. If we don't find any trace of the children after two weeks, we're packing it up and coming home. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Sir." White Queen nodded, keeping her voice steady and her face impassive even though her eyes betrayed the pain she felt at the thought of the children she'd tried so hard to protect being lost forever. There wasn't a person in the room who didn't sympathize, although they all also understood the truth of Flint's words. Being a soldier meant you had to accept the reality, and despite the fact that Alex wasn't actually military, she'd come to understand the viewpoint.

"Now, with that being said, if we do find some trace of the missing children, we will pursue their kidnappers and get them back. Lieutenant-General Johnson told Hawk that we are authorized to use deadly force if necessary to get the children back, get us out, and, if at all possible, capture and bring to justice Lieutenant Colonel Innocent Zimurinda."

White Queen stirred in her seat at the conference table. "Lieutenant Colonel Innocent Zimurinda was tried in absentia a month ago by the ICC and found guilty. Since he's technically a member of his country's own army, he was then bound over, again in absentia, to the DRC's military courts for court-martial, which subsequently tried, found him guilty of treason in victimizing and terrorizing his own people while abusing his position as a serving officer in his country's military, and when caught he will be executed as per their laws."

Flint nodded in understanding. "So he's actually dead either way, at our hands or his government's. Which explains the authorized deadly force. So. We find the children and we get them out, and if we have to kill the Lieutenant Colonel to do it, then so be it. I will admit that I am not going to lose any sleep over it if killing him becomes necessary and I suspect that I'm not the only one who feels this way." Nods all around the table from Snake Eyes, Gung Ho, and Scarlett.

"Good. So we're all on the same page as far as this goes. Let's pack tonight, we leave tomorrow, and we should be on the ground in the Congo by tomorrow night."

Ettienne tapped quietly on the door, then opened it when he heard Alex's soft, "Come in." He knew she'd know it was him, and he slipped in and closed her door behind him. "Hey, 'Tienne."

Normally his nickname on her lips made him smile; this time it was different. "Hey, sweetheart," symbolizing that this was personal and not work related.

She turned to him and he saw the anguish in her eyes. "I'm sorry, 'Tienne. You have no idea how tempting it is to turn away and just continue living here, splitting my time between being your unofficial JAG officer and being a New York ADA, but I just…I can't turn my back on the children I tried so hard to help. I know it can be hard to understand; I'm not asking you to understand why, I'm asking...please, 'Tienne…please don't be mad at me." Her voice broke on the last words.

"Alexandra, _cherie, non, non_, being mad is de las t'ing on my mind." He stepped close to her, folding her in his arms and hugging her as his accent thickened with emotion. "Not even occurred to me to be mad at you. Over de las' few months I've come to understand…dat big heart is a part of you, and dat's what made you who you are. It makes you an empathetic person, and you wouldn't be de same woman I fell in love with if you walked away from did situation. I'm…I'm just glad dat we're going to have a chance to go wit' you, dat I'm going to have a chance to protect you. I don' want you to feel like you're alone; I never, ever want you to feel dat alone ever again. I swear to you, Alexandra Cabot, dat no matter what happens, I love you, I'll always love you, and I will cherish and protect and love you wit' every last breath left in me." He took a deep breath, feeling the certainty of his next words sinking into his soul, become part of his bones, every fiber of his being. "Zimurinda will have to kill me before he lays a finger on you again."

Alex said nothing, just hugged him tighter, and he felt the strength of her grip. She was resolved to do this, had made the decision and, once made, she was resolute; she wouldn't go back on it. That didn't, however, mean that she wasn't scared—absolutely terrified—of going back to Africa and perhaps in reach of the man who had kidnapped her and tortured her almost to death the last time she was there. It was only thanks to the Joes' skills and persistence that she'd survived, and only thanks to her strong will, Doc's skill, and Olivia's presence that Alex had healed. The tense set of her shoulders, the tightness of her grip, the way she'd buried her face in his shoulder—all of that spoke eloquently of how scared she was, yet she was sill determined to do what her heart thought was right irregardless of personal cost. His heart melted again as he hugged her tightly back; it was right that she be an honorary Joe, fitting that she be counted a warrior just as they were.

"Ssshh," he said quietly, pulling her away from her open duffel bag and pack and sitting with her on the edge of the bed, then laying back and swinging her legs up onto it with an expert flip of his own thigh under hers. "I'm not mad at you, I'm proud of you, and so is every last person on this base. There aren't many people who would do as you've done. It takes a very, very special sort of person to put aside personal cost for the greater good, and it's something that each one of us is prepared to do but we don't expect to see in civilians like you and Liv. In the back of our minds I think we knew that that character trait was out there, but we never, ever expected to find it in such an unexpected way, in such an unexpected place." And, softer, "I never expected to find a woman who compliments me in every way in such an unexpected place."

"I never expected to fall in love with a soldier. I always kind of thought you guys were impressively macho types with lots of muscle and no brains."

"And now?" he teased, relieved to see the warm light returning to her blue eyes.

She grinned, but he saw the mischievous spark. "You've still got lots of muscle."

"Brains? Macho type?"

She grinned now, teasing and mischief replaced by sincerity and warmth. "You're still macho." He growled and pretended to tickle her, and she squealed with laughter as she curled up in a tight ball and tried to fend off his wiggling fingers. "Besides," she said as they both lay back, gasping with laughter, "It would be really hard to classify, say, Shana, as having no brains. And she's also completely 'un'-macho. Tough, yes, in a feminine way, but certainly not macho."

Shana turned as the door behind her opened and a silent dark-clad ghost slipped in. "Is Alex getting ready? She's not backing out?" Alex's quarters were two doors down from hers, and Allie and Court both had their rooms in between Shana and Alex's quarters—when she was at Joe base, of course. After she'd moved in with Olivia at the close of Operation: White Queen, Allie and Shana had thought about dismantling the room, but hadn't quite gotten around to it before Alex became their guest in the bustle of pre-court-martial activity surrounding Clayton's SERE training. Now it just seemed like a good idea to keep the room ready for her whenever circumstances recalled her to Joe base.

_No,_ Snake Eyes signed. _She and Ettienne are…_ he paused, searching for the right word.

"Reaffirming their commitment and finding common ground." Snake Eyes nodded, and Shana sighed, smiling a little. "Okay. I can live with that. Are you ready to go?"

_Yes._

Her lips quirked in a slight smile. "They teach you in ninja class how to pack light?"

He pointed to the single duffel bag she had sitting open on her bed.

"Mea culpa," she admitted with a chuckle. "I want to pack light in case we do find traces of the children and we have to move in a hurry. Speed is of the essence, especially since we've already lost several weeks to bureaucratic red tape and it's the middle of the rainy season in Africa." She put her hands on her hips, looking at the ceiling at the sky somewhere above the underground Joe base. "I hope Charlie can still find a track in that mess. I don't see how he could but I guess we'll have to see."

_Shana, sometimes the leader can't know everything. Sometimes you just have to trust that the people around you, your subordinates and fellow soldiers, have reason for doing what they do. You have to trust that they have your back and want to get the mission done same as you do. I know you feel_ _responsible for the people who are on this base but at a certain point you have to trust that they will be responsible too, and you have to understand that you can't do everything._

"You, the great ninja master, admitting that you can't do everything and be everything?"

_Absolutely. Like the incident at Europa with Liv and Alex. While I doubt it would have turned into a fiasco like it did down in that Eastside dive we were in last, even a great ninja master has to have friends._ He smiled at her, a rare smile that lit up his scarred face.

She grinned at him, then sobered. "I will not have a repeat of what happened the last time Alex went to the DRC. Her safety therefore is the first priority over everything and everyone else."

_For you maybe. For me, my first priority is you._

"Snake Eyes—"

_No buts. I love you, Shana O'Hara. I love you more than my own life. Your safety is my first and foremost priority and everything after that comes second—my life, my career, my oaths as an officer. If what happened to Alex ever happens to you, the man who did it will not see the light of another dawn._ The implacable resolution in his face voice and body would have frightened Zimurinda had the man been there to see it.

But it didn't frighten Shana; it was, in its way, comforting. They had been through so much, separately and together; lived and loved together for so long that she wondered now if she would ever be able to live a life without him again. A life without Snake Eyes in it was unthinkable, and she wondered, for the umpteenth time, if she should take the advice she was always giving Allie and hint to Snake Eyes that they should solidify their commitment and get engaged.

And, as she did every time she thought that, she dismissed it. There was plenty of time for that, they were still young and enmeshed firmly in their careers and really, did they need a solid symbol of their commitment? They knew in their hearts that neither one was going anywhere; Shana had always known Snake Eyes had her heart just as she had his; she'd known almost since their first ferry ride together after she'd arrived at Joe base. Whether she had a ring on her finger or not wasn't going to make a difference in how they felt about each other.

And rings were such pesky things, messing up her grip on her swords and crossbows…


	7. Chapter 7: Strategy

**Chapter 7: Strategy**

"All here and ready to go?"

Hawk looked around at the ten soldiers assembled in front of him. Professionals, each one of them; even Alex, who had never had formal military training as they had but still carried herself like one, behaved like one, had the same sense of honor, responsibility, dedication, and duty as one. Whenever she was on base she followed the same schedule as they did; ate with them, went to drills with them, put up with their PT regimen and tried to push herself to perform as they did. She was one of the better shots on the indoor range, and the PT they put her through had given her muscles and stamina equal to Courtney's. Hawk wondered a bit if she hadn't subconsciously been preparing for just this eventuality, having to go back to the Congo; he wouldn't have put it past her. He'd felt away in the back of his mind that they weren't quite finished there yet.

"I appreciate all of you volunteering for this mission. While it is not necessary, and the UN could very well go somewhere else to find the help they seek, your willingness to return to a dangerous country to help those who are helpless is one of the qualities for which you were recruited for this project. Each one of you has my utmost respect and confidence in your abilities. _All _of you." He stressed the 'all', looking at Alex as he did so. "That being said, I do not want anyone taking unnecessary chances on this trip, and I also want you to remember that this is a humanitarian mission, and it would pain me greatly if you were not to come back. I don't want to have to mourn any of you, so try to keep yourselves safe, okay?" General smiles at that, and nods all around. "Remember the limits we've put on this. If you haven't accomplished your mission or at least found traces of the missing children at the end of two weeks, I want you back here. All of you back here. No excuses and no exceptions." His gaze lingered on Alex, who nodded firmly, then flicked to Flint. "Warrant Officer, I'm counting on you to bring your team back intact."

"Aye-aye, Sir!" Flint saluted, and Hawk read determination there; if Alex refused to leave Flint would haul her back, under lock and key if need be. She was coming back from this, and not comatose and on a stretcher this time. Flint would make absolutely certain of it.

"Good luck, then. And keep me apprised. Yo Joe!"

"Yo Joe!" they chorused, even Alex, and then each one picked up their bags and headed for one of the three Humvees waiting at the far end of the garage bay. Courtney and the garage crew had spent the last two days stuffing as much armament and medical supplies as they could fit into it; since Joe base was classified and based under the old Fort Wadsworth complex, they couldn't exactly take off from here; they'd drive to Fort Hamilton, in Brooklyn, and take a C4 transport from there. Hawk had called Colonel Michael Gold the night before and informed him that a team of ten of his people along with three vehicles would be showing up and they had orders to take a C4 to from Brooklyn to Goma International Airport in the Congo. He hadn't given the man many details, nor did Gold request any; it was standard operating procedure. Gold knew that Hawk's classified base was in the New York areas somewhere, but didn't know exactly where, nor was he privy to the details. And, being a good commander, he knew there were some things above his pay grade that he wasn't privy to, and shouldn't ask. So he would provide the transport and wish them well. And if he ever wondered…well, Hawk didn't know about it.

Flint, Gung Ho, and White Queen got into the first vehicle; Snake Eyes and Scarlett in the second; Polaris, Spirit, Recondo, Recoil and Brawler got in the third; Hawk was momentarily puzzled until he realized that the jungle specialists were going to pool their knowledge with the tracking/recon specialists, and he would have bet real money that in the second vehicle, Scarlett and Snake Eyes would be coordinating their defensive plans too. He smiled as they pulled out of the garage bay and took the inclined ramp that would open above Fort Wadsworth; professionals, every single one of them, even White Queen, and he had to have confidence that they would get the job done.

Gung Ho drove; Flint sat in the passenger seat and white queen sat in the back. Silence reigned until they were on the Narrows Bridge heading out to Brooklyn, and Flint cleared his throat. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked White Queen stiffly.

She stared at him. "Of course I'm going to be okay. Sir," she added as an afterthought. "Are you okay?"

Gung Ho rolled his eyes and grinned. "Usually this is the part where Flint starts giving his 'I'm the leader here and this is how it's going to go' speech," he chuckled. "But since you're not really military, he's not quite sure how to go about it."

"Okay, let's get something straight here." White Queen sat straighter, and her voice acquired a slight edge. "Despite my repeated insistence that I am not, in fact, military, General Hawk has treated me like one, and so has everyone else. I have lived with you guys, drilled with you guys, PT'd with you guys, heck, I even handled your legal matters. General Hawk himself has repeatedly told me that he and the US Military, considers me one of you, irregardless of the fact that I have a civilian medal sitting in the back of my bottom drawer, which, I'll admit, is a source of secret pride for me, no matter how much I might disavow it to Liv. So. Everyone else looks at me like I'm military, Flint, even Gung Ho. I realize, after seeing me…" she swallowed hard, "screaming in Zimurinda's camp, you have a hard time seeing me as being as tough as, say, Scarlett and Allie and Courtney, but since you've never seen one of them go through an experience like mine, don't think that I'm not as tough as they are…or that they aren't any different from me."

"Alex, it's not that I don't see you as tough. I just…please try to see this from my point of view. I'd never ever seen anyone come back as badly hurt as you were and still be alive. That plane trip back from the Congo was hell. None of our girls have ever been tortured like that. So it's not that I don't see you as being every bit as tough as they are—it's that I acknowledge that you may be stronger than they are and I don't ever want to see that strength that sorely tested again. You are tough—you've been through more than anyone should have to, military or civilian, and I want, with every last fiber of my being, to keep you from going through that again. Want to know why I didn't want Allie to come? I don't want to think about what could happen to her out here. She's a Staff Sergeant and a linguistics nut; she's good with languages and people. She's not as good at self-defense as Scarlett and Snake Eyes, not as good with weapons as Gung Ho and Recoil, doesn't have the jungle experience that Recondo and Brawler have. Alex, if we didn't need tracking and recon experience so badly I wouldn't have brought Cam; she too has been through more than anyone should have to in her life, and like you I want to keep her from having to go through any more of that. I honestly think that between Spirit's tracking specialty and Recoil's LRRP, we really didn't need Cam but Hawk overrode me on that; the more people we have who can track and perform reconnaissance, the more thorough a job we can do in a much shorter period of time and I firmly intend to be out of there in two weeks with or without the children. And I'm sorry to be so blunt, but when you're in the military you have to face some ugly truths; Shandi, the little girl you're focused on, is crippled and can't move fast. If the faction that captured her wanted to get out of the area quickly, fearing UN pursuit—that's what I would have done if I were him—that little girl would have slowed me down and I would have killed her quickly. So you have to at least consider the possibility that she's dead, has already been dead for at least a week now, and you won't be able to save her."

There was anguish in White Queen's blue eyes, but her voice was steady. "I understand that, Warrant Officer, and I am fully prepared to go there and find nothing. This will be my last trip to the DRC; I won't be returning. I made that decision. If we don't find anything I'm completely prepared to come home empty handed and stay home. I won't fight with you over it."

Flint almost wilted with relief. "I hoped you'd see it that way but I wasn't going to count on it. Thank you."

"No, Flint. Thank you for being willing to come out with me. Thank you for bringing a team and thank you for being willing to make this sacrifice. The last time you went to the Congo it didn't end well for you either; don't think I didn't find out later that you and Allie refused painkillers on the trip home because you determined I needed what was left more than you did. It was a sacrifice I don't think I could have made if given the choice, and I appreciate it."

"There was no way you could have made that sacrifice. You couldn't even talk, let alone make conscious informed decisions." Gung Ho broke in fiercely. "And it's not going to happen again. So drive, Flint. The sooner we get there the sooner we can get back."

"What happened to Alex last time is _not_ going to happen again." Shana said fiercely as her hands gripped the steering wheel of the Humvee.

As with all missions that involved their vehicles, they'd left Fort Wadsworth in the dark hours of the morning, to minimize the travel time and the amount of traffic that might see them and wonder what three Army Humvees were doing on the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. Also with traffic so minimal, she could keep one eye on the road and one on Snake Eyes; not that she really needed to see his hands to know what he wanted to say. They'd grown so close over the years that she could practically finish his sentences. And he could finish hers.

_It won't._

"No one's coming back from the Congo this time looking like she did the last time."

_No. They won't_.

"Of all the idiotic, stupid women—Alex is a lovely woman, but she can be so stubbornly stupid sometimes, risking her life for children who didn't even know she existed a year ago. Or something like that."

_You didn't even know Alex existed ten months ago. And yet you're here risking your life for her._

"That's different."

_How is that different?_

"It just is!" Snake Eyes' hands stopped moving, but she got the distinct feeling he'd proved some point that she wasn't aware of yet, and she also got the feeling he was laughing at her, so she reached across the space in the front seat and punched his arm none too gently.

His shoulders shook, proving to her that he _had_ been laughing at her. "What's so funny?" she glared at him. He laughed silently some more. She gave him one last exasperated look as his seat started to shake with his silent laughter, huffed out a breath, and rolled her eyes. "Just for that, I'll put you on the mat next time we spar."

_You can try._

"I've done it before!"

_Not often._

She grouched. "No, not often." Damn the man for pointing out the obvious. "But I _have_ done it."

_Only when I let you._

"What do you mean, you 'let' me?"

_I let you beat me the first time we sparred._

"You didn't 'let' me beat you. And I didn't 'let' you beat me. We ended it in a draw." Fiercely. "I didn't want them to think a fresh-faced green rookie could beat you."

_And I didn't want them to think that you were someone they could push around and belittle and ignore. You deserved better than to become their punching bag or their eye candy._

"Well, if it hadn't been for you I would have ended up that way."

He tilted his head, looked thoughtfully at her. _I don't think so. I think you'd be exactly where you are now even without my assistance. You would never submit willingly to being anyone's punching bag, though I will admit you do look delicious, good enough to eat._

Her face flushed a brilliant pink at the memory of Snake Eyes in her quarters the night before, and what his mouth had been doing. "Damn it, don't make me pull this thing over…you look good enough to eat too."

_As you so amply demonstrated._ His grin was positively wicked.

"Okay. Stop or I'll crash this."

His eyes widened in mock alarm. _Oh we definitely couldn't have that._

"Shut up, Snake Eyes."

"So how do we want this to go?"

Brawler was driving; everyone else was sitting in the back seats looking at a printout of a topographical map of the southern half of the DRC. Recoil, at the ranking officer there, was responsible for coordinating battle plans. Or so Polaris thought.

"How do you think we should do this?"

She stared at him a moment, mouth open, until Spirit reached out with one finger and pushed her chin up to close her mouth. Recoil's eyes twinkled but his eyes were serious. "Polaris, I realize this is the first mission you're going out on with us Joes, so I'll take it easy on you and give you one warning. We're all in this together; if you have a suggestion, I want to hear it, same as I want suggestions from everyone else here. We're the recon/tracking team for this mission, the success of it is going to depend on us pooling our skills, our talents, and our knowledge. While rank is important at base, it's not that important out here in the field. The only time I'm ever going to pull rank on you in the field is an emergency situation or one where opinion is divided and we need a tie-breaker." He looked at Spirit, then looked back at Polaris. "I know you lived with your Native tribe, and I know the average Native American tribe is a cooperative effort, with everybody equal and the only time a Chief's authority is needed is when an authoritative decision is required. That's the way I want you to look at us. I know, from what I heard and read about you over the summer—first, Hawk's SERE training fiasco and on up through Walker's assault and the court martial, that you were a 'lowly Corporal' not only at SERE but at your former unit at Fort Benning, and Hawk says you told him that even though women weren't posted to an LRRP or an RRD, that was where you wanted to be and you were willing to wait as long as you had to in order to prove you were every bit as good as Walker and his buddies so you could get your own posting, and Hawk brought you here so you could exercise your skills and talents and not have to wait. That is why you're here and that is exactly what I want you to do. I do have a basic plan but I'd be an idiot not to get input from every member of the team. Got it?"

Polaris nodded, and he grinned. "Okay. Study that map and tell me if you see anything that we could be doing differently. Once we all get settled in at Keshero we need to have a plan of attack. I wanted to split into three recon teams, Red Team headed by Spirit, Blue Team headed by you, and Gold Team headed by me. Spirit will go with Recondo on Red Team, you'll go with me on Blue Team, and Flint goes with Brawler on Gold Team. I mapped out a search area for each team surrounding the village, but it'll be your team's duty to keep track of how much ground you've covered each day and report back each evening. Our target area is at least ten square miles each day—"

"Better make that five square miles. Ten's a bit ambitious, given the terrain," Brawler spoke from where he was driving.

Recondo nodded. "You haven't been out there, Recoil; that's some rough ground out there, and this is the middle of the rainy season. I agree with Brawler, ten's ambitious and five is probably going to be the upper limit. There were a few times during our last visit that we did eight miles in five hours in the vehicles Alex had. And prepare to be completely wet all the way through, all day, every day. The last day we were there, right before White Queen and Flint got captured, there was a heavy rain and no matter what we did we couldn't stay dry."

"All right. Five square miles a day is the target, but if we can do better I want us to try. Okay?' Anyone else?" Cam slowly raised her hand, and he nodded to her. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Recondo, Brawler, and Flint were on the original team that went to the Congo with Gung Ho and Lady Jaye, right?" Recoil nodded. "I understand why we'd leave White Queen, Gung Ho, Snake Eyes and Scarlett at Keshero, but since we need three teams of two each—would it make more sense to put one member of the original team with each of the three recon teams?" She saw his frown. "Look. You have Flint and Brawler on Gold Team. If I took Brawler and you took Flint, then at least one person the children have already met will be on each team. They'll recognize the soldiers that helped them out before and be more willing to trust us if one team stumbles across them and there isn't time to go back to Keshero to get White Queen."

Recoil nodded as the logic became clear. "I got it. It does make sense. Okay, Spirit and Recondo on Red Team, Brawler goes with me on Blue Team, and you get Flint on Gold Team." He saw her look. "Hey, you said it first, so you get Flint. He doesn't have Allie right now to balance him out so he's a bundle of nerves. You're the junior recon member so you get to put up with him. Command prerogative."

He grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes, but settled for an "Aye-aye, Sir."


	8. Chapter 8: Arrival

**Chapter 8: Arrival**

"Welcome to Fort Hamilton."

Flint was the first one out of the lead vehicle, as was customary, and saluted, then shook Base Commander Colonel Michael Gold's hand. "Warrant Officer Dashiell Faireborn, Mission Commander. Thank you for the welcome." And, as he thought every time they went out on one of these missions, he was glad that Hawk and Gold were friends; it would be extremely awkward if they weren't. Gold was always extremely generous with his base's transportation capabilities when it came to Hawk's people.

"Marine Gunnery Sergeant Ettienne LaFitte," Gung Ho introduced himself; unnecessarily, since Gold was familiar with him. The name went for Scarlett, and Snake Eyes, and most of the rest of the team until he got to Polaris and Spirit. "Corporal Cameron Arlington," Cam introduced herself.

"Asian?" Gold raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think Hawk had any on his base." The decided coolness of his tone made Flint stiffen, but when Cam didn't say anything he didn't either, though he made a mental note to himself to talk to Hawk about it when they got back to base. It wasn't uncommon to come up against a prejudice, a bias, against Asians in the military; most soldiers were white or black and Hispanic, very few were Asian, and even fewer were female. It was something Dash had only been peripherally aware of until Cam had joined them after the deplorable incident with her maltreatment during SERE training and during the subsequent court martial. While she was part Native American too, most people only saw Asian in the almond eyes and thick blue-black hair. They were just passing through, and so he didn't make an issue of it, but he'd ask Hawk to have a quiet word with Gold.

"Don't," came Scarlett's voice behind him, and he turned to see her studying him seriously. And for the millionth time since he'd met her, he wondered how the hell she managed to read his mind; it was something he'd always wondered. She was, after all, called 'Mindreader' around base only half-jokingly; she'd always had an uncanny ability to tell what the people around her were thinking. Heck, Snake Eyes didn't even have to sign most of the time; she knew what he was going to say before he even lifted his hands. "Flint, if Polaris didn't make an issue out of it then neither should you."

"She's been through enough, Scarlett. She deserves to be treated exactly like the rest of us. She's earned the right to be one of us and treated the same no matter what she looks like. It upsets me that people can't see how exceptional she has to be in order to be one of Hawk's Girls."

"Hawk's Girls? Is that how we're really thought of?" Scarlett smiled. "I like that. But getting back to the topic, don't get into it with Gold. Let Hawk know and he'll handle it. Remember that Gold hasn't met Cam before and has no idea what her capabilities are and that colors his perception of her. To him, she's an unknown."

"But Alex was an unknown and he didn't give her the cold shoulder like he just gave Cam."

"Flint. Let it go." And Shana's tone didn't invite further argument, and in fact the others had already finished their greetings and were waiting expectantly for him to lead them off, so he just saluted Gold (with maybe a touch less deference than he usually used, and he honestly didn't care if Gold noticed it or not) and led his team back to their vehicles for the drive across the tarmac to the massive, fat-bellied C4 troop transport waiting for them.

There was no coolness among the three pilots on the transport; they were familiar with the Joes, having served as their transport specialists for a few years now. "Got everything?" Airman Michaels asked Flint. "We got our orders to get you to Goma International airport as fast as possible, then we're going to layover at Entebbe Air Force Base until the order comes for us to pick you up in Goma and bring you home."

"Yeah, that's about how it's going to go. We're on a humanitarian mission, but I don't know exactly how long it's going to take. At minimum, two weeks if we can't locate our objectives; if we do, well, I don't really know when we will be back. I'm sorry if this is going to mess up any plans you have for the holidays—we're only a couple weeks away from Christmas."

Airman Michaels shrugged, a move mirrored by the other aircrew members. "That's okay. I didn't have any special plans, don't really have family off-base. And I hate the cold here in New York—grew up in Florida—so getting out of the cold and being able to layover somewhere warm will be a welcome change. And we all feel that way; Colonel Gold asked for volunteers, and we volunteered."

Flint grinned. "All right. We'll do our best to make this quick." He retreated to the cargo compartment, where his team had just finished securing the vehicles to keep them from rolling around in the belly of the plane. "All here?"

"Aye, Sir!" A chorus of voices answered him.

"Good. Then let's get under way."

They were well over the Atlantic by the time they finished securing all their belongings and gear. Flint finally secured his last duffel and finished checking all their gear, then joined his team, sitting on the flight deck and playing a brisk game of cards. Judging by the pile of pennies in the canteen cup in front of Shana, she was winning—as usual. Her 'mindreading' abilities made playing cards with her a losing proposition; you knew you were going to lose. Although Hawk didn't approve of gambling, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and their games were always small-stakes only, and no money ever actually changed hands; it was all given back to its owner at the end of the game.

"So what's the plan? How are we going to attack this?"

Recoil cleared his throat. "After we establish that FOB at Keshero, White Queen, Scarlett, Snake Eyes, and Gung Ho will stay there. The rest of us are going to split into three teams; Spirit with Recondo, me with Brawler, and you with Polaris. We established that with the terrain and the fact that it's the middle of the rainy season, five square miles is the ideal target search area, although we will certainly try to do better than that, but that's the minimum we're going to expect. I provided each team with color-coded maps showing which search areas are their responsibility, and with the navigation and tracking experts we have, we shouldn't have a problem covering the surrounding terrain without overlapping areas." Cam showed her map to Flint. "Flint, you and Cam are Gold team, Spirit and Recondo are Red team, and Brawler and I are Blue team."

"Who decided who was going to be on what team?"

"It, ah, was something of a joint decision. Polaris pointed out that if one of the teams were to stumble on the children in their searching, we should have someone who went on the original mission so that if there were an opportunity to get those children away from their captors without fuss or bloodshed, we should be able to do so if there was a familiar face they would recognize and trust."

Flint raised an eyebrow. "That's something you should have thought of."

Recoil shrugged unapologetically. "Not used to having children not trust us, Sir. We don't run into those kinds of issues stateside. And Polaris, out of all of us, knows what it's like to not be able to trust the adults around you."

"True." Flint turned to Polaris. "Good thinking."

Cam's coppery skin took on a distinctly rosy hue over her cheeks. "Thank you, Sir."

"And…I know it's not our fault or our doing, but…on behalf of all of us, I'm sorry for how Colonel Gold treated you back there." He saw Scarlett roll her eyes at him, but he plowed on. "He had no right to treat you any differently than he treated the rest of us, even White Queen, and I will talk to Hawk when we get back about it."

Cam stared at him for a moment, and he expected her to say something like 'it's okay', which it wasn't; or 'I'm used to it', which was unfortunately true. Instead she just blinked at him in startlement for a minute, then blurted, "What?"

It was his turn to be confused. "Gold commented on your race when we first got out of the Humvees. It was rude and uncalled-for and I'm going to ask Hawk to have a word with him when we get back."

"He was rude? I didn't notice anything unseemly."

Scarlett folded her hand of cards and stood up. "Yes, Polaris, you wouldn't have noticed because you're used to the unseemly behavior and have come to expect it. After what Broadview and Walker did to you this summer I'm not surprised that you wouldn't have noticed, and I told Flint not to say anything because if you didn't take offense, he shouldn't either. However, I will back up his story when he talks to Hawk, and if Gold still has that same chip on his shoulder when we get back, I'll talk to him myself." Her tone didn't leave any doubt in anyone's mind how that little conversation was going to go. Scarlett was one of the few people on base who could use a word of praise yet make you feel two inches tall, or discipline you but make you feel like you'd won a medal at the same time. She could be completely respectful to Hawk but criticize him at the same time when he joined her PT classes. Flint didn't know how she did it; even Hawk admitted sometimes that he didn't know how she managed the trick. It was a weapon, just like her swords, just like her crossbow, like her martial arts skills.

Cam frowned. "Honestly, I don't know what everyone's upset about, but you've known him longer than I have—I only just met him—so if you say he was rude, I'll take your word for it." She yawned. "And since I didn't get much sleep last night being anxious, right now seems like a good time for a nap."

"Mmm. Didn't get much sleep, hey?" Flint was about to chalk it up to nerves—this was Cam's first mission with the Joes, of course—but then he saw Spirit's dusky complexion get slightly duskier, and figured it out—and blushed himself. This business of having a married couple at base was going to take some getting used to. And then, out the corner of his eye, he saw Shana and Snake Eyes exchange looks, and he sighed—he had a feeling down in his bones that soon there were going to be two married couples on base, not that Shana and Snake Eyes weren't already practically married, they just hadn't made it formal yet. "I'll bet you two had pre-mission jitters too?" Shana's suddenly bright pink cheeks told him the answer.

"Well, it's going to take a few hours for this transatlantic flight, so if you all want to, go ahead and take naps." General approbation at that. They were all professional soldiers, and they knew that once on a mission, sleep could be hard to come by depending on circumstances, so you grabbed some shuteye whenever you could, wherever you could. Standard operating procedure.

Ten minutes later they were all asleep.

Goma International Airport was the same as they remembered it from earlier that year.

It was hard to realize this was the second time they'd been here that year; the events of late spring into early fall had consumed their lives so completely and been so momentous that it felt like a lifetime. But the airport itself hadn't changed at all; the crowds of people coming and going, and the Joes, with their lighter skins, still stood out like a sore thumb.

What had changed was the greeting.

"Madame Alex!" came a cherry greeting, and a moment later Alex was engulfed in a huge hug by a wiry, slender dark-skinned man with a pronounced French accent. "It ees good to see you!"

"_Merci,_ Henri, thank you," Alex greeted the man back with equal warmth, and Flint grinned at him. They'd met the bush pilot on their last trip; he'd been the one responsible for getting an ICC lawyer, an MSF doctor, and five 'paramilitary contractors' out to Nzoka. He was also supposed to come pick them up that last fateful day in the village when Zimurinda had raided it and Flint and Alex had been captured. "Henri, come and have breakfast with us. Tell me everything. What's been going on?"

"Nothing good, Madame Alex." They started walking toward one of the airport restaurants. "Word has gotten around to many of the villages what the Army of the DRC has done to you. The Army travels from village to village but when they get to a village, lately the villages are empty, like people just walked away in the middle of the day. If the Army is stupid enough to leave their vehicles unguarded, tires mysteriously go flat, armament is stolen, provisions are spoiled when water or insects and vermin get into flour and grain sacks—when those provisions don't disappear entirely." His teeth flashed whitely in his dark face as their group sat down at a cluster of tables outside a coffee shop. "There have been many mysterious rockslides on the mountains lately. It seems to only take the merest thought of an earthquake before half a mountain comes down upon them. And the mountains fall in very controlled, selected places, like God himself has decided he does not like these Army vermin and has decided to remove them from the face of the earth."

"I rather think that God is having a little help," Alex said dryly.

Henri's eyes flashed merrily, but he simply shook his head. "It is not for a man to say he knows the ways of God," he said sagely.

Flint smothered a smile, then leaned over to the little bush pilot. "What can you tell us about the raid on Keshero?"

Henri's smile disappeared, and he looked around nervously, seemed about to speak, then shook his head. "Nothing, _Monsieur_."

Alex laid a hand over his. "Henri, Keshero is why I came back. I came to find Shandi, her brother. I understand their grandmother is dead but I want to—I need to—at least make an effort to find those children. And in order to do that I need to know who is the likeliest to have taken them and where they may have been taken so I know where to search. I brought more friends to help me look too." She indicated the nine Joes behind her. "But we can get to them faster if we knew where to look. If there is anything you know that can help us, Henri, please tell me."

He stared at her for a long time. "You crazy woman," he finally muttered, shaking his head. "You don't know what you're getting into, Madame Alex."

Shana leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. "_Monsieur_. I realize you're afraid, and that not all the changes that have happened since we were last here are good ones. But you're also angry at what some of those changes are, and you want to do something but you yourself can't. You're helpless. So let us help you. Tell us, and maybe together we can figure something out." Her voice had taken on a coaxing tone, and after a minute Henri sighed.

"Several of the rogue factions here have received a new influx of weapons and money. This has allowed them to all but eliminate several other factions, chief among them is the Lord's Resistance army. The children stolen by Joseph Kony are no longer wandering out there in the jungle, but neither are they back in their home villages where they belong. They are simply…disappearing. The rumor is that the new power backing several of the factions are supplying money and weapons in exchange for slaves, sex slaves and child slaves. Children are afraid to play outside, parents hide their children whenever strangers go by. We have always known that human trafficking was bad here, that many children who go missing from their villages are not victims of a bullet but of something far worse. But they are much bolder now, backed by this new money."

"Does anyone know who is behind it?"

Henri shook his head. "No, Madame. There are rumors of a light-skinned woman who speaks Portuguese and Spanish, sorting through the slaves brought in before shipping them to secret slave markets around the world, but she is only a highly-placed dealer, not the actual backer. We know nothing of who the backer really is."

"And you think the children from Keshero were kidnapped by these factions for the purposes of child slavery?"

Henri nodded vigorously. "Yes. Word got out among the villages of what happened to Madame Alex, that she was raped and tortured. There are rumors that say she died; I have been among those who insisted that she was alive, and there is an English doctor here at Goma Provincial Hospital who insisted that you were not dead, that you were rescued and taken to safety by a group of American soldiers, and for those who are praying for the hope that America might choose to look this way and use their soldiers to bring an end to the bloodshed and infighting tearing apart this country and killing our people, it is hopeful news indeed."

Shana leaned forward, suddenly intent. "A doctor? At Goma?"

Henri nodded, brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Yes. Rohena Miller. She is British, volunteer with Medecins Sans Frontieres."

Shana grinned as she turned to Flint. "I don't think you ever met her, but she was the one who arranged for Alex to be smuggled out to the mass graves so Gung Ho could find her. She was the one who hid Courtney in Alex's place to try and uncover the assassin. " She shrugged at his raised eyebrow. "Courtney told me, of course."

"We'll have to stop in and say hi, then. After all this is over." Flint chuckled. "All right, people. Let's get on our way."


	9. Chapter 9: Keshero

**Chapter 9: Keshero**

The UN witness protection encampment on the outskirts of Keshero was more like a ghost town than the busy, thriving settlement it had been the last time they had been there.

Flint's heart ached at the way their vehicles were watched as they pulled into the village the next morning. The last time they'd seen Keshero, children had been watching the road, had recognized Alex, and they'd had an escort the rest of the way into the village. The villagers had been, if not openly welcoming, at least friendly.

Now he saw the barest hint of a human figure in a door through the gray curtain of driving rain, gone almost as soon as he saw the person; the fear, as they parked the vehicles and got out, was palpable. He scanned the village quickly, then motioned to Alex to climb out. "They'll probably recognize you and come out of hiding."

As Alex climbed out he heard an almost audible gasp, then an old man hobbled toward them, his eyes fixed on her. He asked her in French, "Are you Madame Alex?"

There was such a mix of hope and fear in his eyes that Flint gritted his teeth. Alex must have known, because she nodded to the old man. "Yes, it's me."

"But…we heard you were dead."

"Zimurinda captured me. And him." She laid a hand on Flint's shoulder. "But we survived." Her hands went to the buttons on her fatigue top, and before Flint could tell her not to, she'd unbuttoned it and slipped it off her shoulders.

She was wearing a spaghetti-strap tank underneath, not quite regulation but Flint wasn't going to pick at her about it, not when he saw the man reach out one hand and touch one of the thin red scars that decorated her shoulders. His face showed empathy for her, but there was distrust in his eyes as he looked at Flint.

Flint shrugged out of his fatigue top, then stripped off his undershirt until he stood naked from the waist up. With his shirt off, the scar lines across his back were as clear as they were on Alex's, and the old man just nodded respectfully, stepping back. "I am glad you survived," he said. And although the words were simple, the depth of feeling behind them was not, and somehow the words meant more to Flint than the platitudes they had heard from everyone, from Lieutenant General Johnson up to the President of the United States, since the whole affair had started.

Alex shrugged her fatigue top on but left it open. "We came here to find the children," she said quietly. Behind her, sensing that they were welcome, the second Humvee opened, and then the third, and the rest of the team came up to where they stood. "We want to establish a working base here, and four of us will stay while the rest will split up into three teams and go looking for any trace of the children."

The man gestured out toward the jungle, hidden at the moment by the hard driving rain. "Out in that?"

"If we have to." Shana had gotten out of the second vehicle, her fiery red hair rapidly darkening to auburn as rain soaked her hair and clothes. "We are going to do whatever we can to try and find your children." The man had to have understood her, but he didn't seem to have heard; he stepped forward, his eyes riveted to…her hair?

He whispered something in an African dialect, and Alex grinned at Shana. "He says a woman with this much fire in her heart will have no problem with rain," and smothered a chuckle as Shana blinked, bemused.

"Um. Thank you. I think." Shana shook her head. "Can we get out of the rain? As bright as my hair is and as much fire as there is in my heart, I can't evaporate the stuff." Behind her Snake Eyes started to shake with silent laughter. She apparently knew what he was doing because she reached behind her without looking and poked him hard in the bicep. He stopped laughing, but there was still merriment in his eyes.

Flint chose to ignore the whole exchange as the man led them to one of the huts. "The people who lived in this one died when Zimurinda raided the village and killed a lot of the people. Michel here says most of the people you see now were out in the jungle gathering food or tending to the crops or hunting when the village was raided. There were no survivors."

"Why didn't they leave?" Spirit asked from behind Polaris. 'They know there's a chance the raiders can come back, why did they stay?"

Michel spread his hands. "Where do you say we should go? No matter where you go, death can always find you. The raiders hold nothing sacred, not even their home villages or their own people. Men are killed, women are raped and the older ones are killed; younger women and children are taken for the slave markets." He looked at Alex. "Before you left the last time, there was war and conflict. There is still war and conflict but the focus now is to capture children so that they can sell to the slavers and get more money for more weapons. Those who bring in the best quality goods—young women who are virginal and untouched—are given the best-quality weapons. Where would we go? Where is safe from this new enemy?" He shook his head. "You are welcome to use this hut for as long as you wish. But I will warn you that you may be here on a fool's errand. The children you seek are long gone, or dead. Shandi cannot run, and her walk is so slow she may not be able to keep up and they will kill her."

"I'm aware of that," Alex's voice was steady even though her blue eyes were full of pain at the idea. "I still have to at least try, Michel."

He nodded. Was that a little spark of understanding? "Do what you must. Our hearts and our hopes go with you."

"Thank you," Alex smiled, and the man left the hut quietly.

The Joes dropped their gear and looked around."This is going to be cozy," Shana remarked. "All ten of us in here…I get the feeling we're going to get a lot closer to each other than we meant to be."

"It's doable," Cam's eyes were scanning the ceiling. "Look at the beams holding up the roof. We have some waterproof tarps in our gear, we can use that plus some string, or vines, to hang those up right along this third of the room. Shana and Alex and I can sleep back here and the rest of you guys can bunk out there, with our sleeping area used for anything requiring privacy." She crossed the hut, opened a 'closet' door.

Inside the closet was a tap sticking out of the wall, and a hole in the floor, and there was a pipe sticking out of the wall at waist-height. "Um…is that…"Spirit started.

Alex grinned mischievously. "I hope you have good aim." Chuckles broke out among the group. "But no, seriously. That is what that pipe is used for, for males at least. We ladies will have to use the hole in the floor," and here Shana made a face, "and the water tap does have water coming from it. While Keshero is considered pretty well off because they do have running water, the water itself doesn't come anywhere close to the quality standards that we're used to in the US. Aid workers here do have water purification tablets with them, although once you run out of your supply it can be difficult to get more, so for those of us who went out to the far-flung villages, we were recommended to spend a week drinking progressively larger and larger amounts of the water available until our systems adjusted to the bacteria and microbes in the water. Which I chose to do."

"How bad was that?" Ettienne's expression was a mix of admiration that she would have done it and loathing that it should have been necessary.

"Not bad. Started with a little bit a day and worked up until it was the only thing I drank at the end of the week. The first few days you get stomach cramps and nausea, depending on how much you drank; so if you start small and work up it won't hit you that bad. There was one MSF doctor who just started drinking the water here without the gradual acclimation and ended up flat on his back for the entire week throwing up, having stomach cramps, and diarrhea. But by the end of the week his system adjusted and he was fine…along with the rest of us who acclimated in small doses. The end result was the same; it was just the route he took there. Gradual acclimation left me able to still work and function, and the natives make teas that eased the throwing-up and nausea symptoms."

"We're only planning on being here for two weeks, so I don't really see that it'll be necessary," Flint frowned.

"And we're also in the middle of the rainy season here so if we run out of purification tablets we can always put pots or something outside for rain," Cam said practically. "Do you get the same effects from the rain?"

"No, the rain's clean, I think, but I never tried it and I didn't know anyone who did. The doctors that didn't choose acclimation just boiled the tap water. It was something I would have tried but out in the jungle it's not always feasible, especially if there are rogue forces in the area."

"We have plenty of tablets and we're not going to be here long. Come on, let's hang those tarps up. Um, do we want to…to set up two?"

Shana frowned. Flint looked at Cam. Shana grinned. "Flint wants to know if Cam and Charlie need separate areas?"

Cam snapped to a formal salute in front of Flint. "Warrant Officer. Sir. We neither expect nor want any special consideration for our marital status. On missions we would like to be treated the same as everyone else."

Shana smiled approvingly from behind Flint as Flint blew out his breath. "Okay. Let's get the tarps set up. You guys want to go and get the rest of our things from the Humvees?"

By the time they had the vehicles unpacked and their things stowed away (fortunately the rain slackened a little bit and unpacking the vehicles didn't require them to get as wet as they anticipated) word had traveled through the village that Alex was back. They got quite a stream of visitors, many skeptical, and Alex kept taking her fatigue top off to show them her scars. "Very few people escape Zimurinda and live to tell about it," she said quietly to Flint after yet another set of visitors left. "The scars are proof that we were captives and we did escape." And, even more quietly, she said, "Zimurinda is infamous for torturing people to death."

Flint stared at her, swallowed hard, but didn't say anything. He didn't have to. After what they had both been through at Zimurinda's hands, she knew, and he knew, that they were both lucky to be alive.

And all luck ran out eventually.

_Not this time,_ he thought fiercely, willing whatever God there was to hear him. _Not this time. Never again. Not her. I will die before that son of a bitch touches her again. And so would Ettienne._

"All right," he pushed those thoughts aside as he gathered his thoughts and focused on the mission. "Spirit, Polaris, Recoil, Recondo and Brawler are going out with me first thing in the morning to start searching, so I want you five to roll in and get some rest now. Gung Ho, Snake Eyes, Scarlett, and I are going to check the camp and figure out what we can do about constructing a defensive perimeter. White Queen, I want you with me. Might as well give you a crash course in tactical security."

The rain had increased in its intensity by the time they stepped out of their (nice and dry!) hut, but no one complained. Shana's long red hair had started drying while inside, but she ignored the way it was rapidly getting wet again as she and Snake Eyes headed for the opposite end of the village to check the points of ingress there. Gung Ho went to the road that led eastward, and Flint led the way for himself and Alex as they headed for the main road on which they'd come in. "So what kind of defenses do we have to work with?" he asked her.

"Defenses?" Alex looked puzzled.

He gestured to the village, quiet now in the slowly-gathering darkness. "Don't they have some kind of advanced warning system in place to alert them if someone approaches?"

Alex bit her lower lip as she thought. "Um...the birds and jungle noises will go silent if anyone approaches." She saw his look. "Flint. These are simple people living in poverty. They don't have military training, they don't know what 'defensive perimeters' are, much less what to do with one. It's part of the reason why they're sitting ducks out here and why the villages are so decimated by the factional infighting."

Flint gritted his teeth. "All right. Here's what we're going to do. I'm going out with the recon teams in the morning, but since you and Gung Ho speak French as well as English, you can translate for Snake Eyes and Shana as they try to teach the people the rudiments of defensive perimeters, tactical strategy, and maybe even a little self-defense." They got to the edge of the road leading into the camp, the same road they'd just come in on. In order to leave room for any other vehicles on the narrow strip of paved road, they'd pulled their Humvees off the road and parked them behind the hut they were staying in. Flint spent some time looking at the trees on either side, looking up, looking back down the road they'd come, looking at the two huts on either side of the road. "So this end of the road leads back to Goma?" he finally asked her.

She nodded, pushing wet hair out of her eyes. "And that one goes northwest to Sake. This is the main road that runs through the eastern half of the country; there's another one that runs north-south down the western half of the country but there isn't really a good road that connects these two major cities to the capital Kinshasa in the west. The people have wanted it for years but the government hasn't gotten around to building it—if they'd stop fighting and work together it could be done in a few months. These people work hard and they'd be willing to work all day in shifts if necessary to get what they want done."

"Never underestimate the determination of a motivated work force." Flint quipped; it was something taught in the military. If someone was motivated enough to get something done, nothing could stand in their way; it was a psychological ploy used not only by the US military but by everyone, all around the world. Even enemy military organizations like the ones in the Middle East that they were currently fighting.

He shook his head to dispel that thought. "You, Scarlett, Snake Eyes and Gung Ho are going to be considered the base team on this mission. When we get back I'm going to give you guys a few assignments, and there are a couple that I want to see done by the end of the day tomorrow. They aren't impossible, and they are necessary." He led the way back to their hut, soon followed by Gung Ho and Scarlett and Snake Eyes.

Once back inside He started speaking as Polaris handed Scarlett and Alex a towel to dry their soaked hair. "This village has a lot of defensive potential; there's only one road and one branch off it, so here's what I want Base team to do." He took a stick from the pile of fire kindling in the corner and traced a rough map of the village in the dirt floor. "All right. Scarlett, Snake Eyes, I want you at the Sake end of the road constructing a roadblock—a barrier that can be lifted and lowered at will. A thin sapling or something, I'll leave you to figure out the mechanics. Whatever you work out, I want Gung Ho and Alex to do the same at the Goma end of the village road, and then I want the same done to the one branch that goes off the main road. Once you're done that, see if you can come up with some kind of advance warning system in the underbrush around the village not directly bordering the three roads. I'd actually like a fence built around the entire perimeter of the camp, but we don't have the manpower to do that." Alex opened her mouth to say something, then closed it; when he looked enquiringly at her, she shook her head, so he went on. "We'll set that as our goal for tomorrow, and for the recon teams, we all have our maps and designated search areas too, right?"

Everyone nodded.

"Okay. Roll in, everyone, tomorrow's going to be a long day."


	10. Chapter 10: Plans

**Chapter 10: Plans**

They all awoke the next morning at the first stirring of the village; as they were sitting up and breaking open ration packets, there was a hesitant tap on the doorframe and a woman edged through carrying a large wooden bowl covered with a huge leaf of some sort, ostensibly to keep it from getting soaked by the pouring rain outside. "Food," she said shyly, her words directed to everyone but her eyes on Alex.

Flint blinked. "Madam, we thank you, but it is not necessary. We brought plenty of our own." She acted like she hadn't heard them, holding out the carved wooden bowl.

Alex rose and translated Flint's words to the woman. "Guest-right," The woman insisted, holding out the bowl.

"If their concept of guest-right is the same as it is with my people, it would be considered the height of discourtesy not to accept," Cam said quietly to Flint, who looked at Alex helplessly. She shrugged, but was that a hint of a smile hanging around the corner of her lips?

"Hold on." Cam reached for her pack, dug around for a moment, and came up with a handful of chocolate bars. "Trade." She held them out to Alex, who grinned as she took the carved bowl from the woman and pressed the candy bars into the woman's hand. The woman looked down at it, and her face broke into a delighted smile; Flint kicked himself for not thinking of it. He should have remembered the last time they were here how the village children had descended with obvious delight on the half-a-chocolate bar Allie had been carrying forgotten in her pocket. And he also remembered how carefully they had shared the treat; each child got a tiny bit, no one tried to claim more than their fair share and no one begrudged another child any. Very different from American children, who, he vaguely remembered from his limited interaction with several over the years, were inherently selfish and would not have shared. "They don't get that many sweets."

Alex grinned. "No they don't. I went to the stores before we left and loaded myself down with sweets and candy and some things I thought they'd need, but I didn't bring any chocolate because it perishes easily and wouldn't do well in this climate. But they are going to enjoy those chocolate bars." She sat down on her bedroll, lifting the leaf off the bowl."Rice and vegetables. You know, as much as I missed New York burgers, there's something about the food here that I did miss." She looked up. "I realize it's not what you're used to, but does anyone want to share this? It would be rude if we didn't eat it, as well as a waste, and these people have so little that they can't afford to waste anything."

"I'll try it," Cam offered instantly, rummaging in her pack for her basic issue mess kit; canteen and canteen cup, multipurpose eating utensil, small flat circular plate.

Shana offered to try some too, and then Snake Eyes. Seeing this example, the guys also agreed to sample the village cooking; Recondo and Brawler and Flint remembered food like this the last time they'd been here, although their visits to the villages had been very brief; Recoil and Spirit finally agreed to try it, and there were pleased sounds all around the hut as they tasted the village cooking for the first time. "It's not like it is Stateside, but it is good. Fresher, somehow," Recoil said with his mouth full.

Alex nodded. "It is. They don't have access to the kinds of preservatives we do, nor the refrigeration, so what they do have is made pretty fresh at every meal. They don't waste anything, so every last bite is eaten and there are hardly any leftovers, and so because they don't have things like salt and artificial preservatives they season naturally with local herbs, which is better than the artificial stuff we use and also tastes better. It's also why they tend, on the whole, to be healthier and stronger and live a little longer than we do if a bullet doesn't get them first."

Breakfast over, the recon teams headed out, leaving White Queen, Scarlett, Gung Ho, and Snake Eyes in the hut. "White Queen? Where are you going?" Gung Ho asked as Alex started for the door.

She turned to him, huffing out her breath in exasperation. "Flint's a great leader and a brilliant tactician, but he's forgetting one little detail. This is not US soil and this is not a US base. This is a village, and there are already people living in it, and don't you think, before we start changing everything around and building stuff in their village without their knowledge and permission we should discuss it with them first?"

Silence in the hut for a moment. Alex rolled her eyes. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but when America comes into Third World countries like this there is automatically this mindset of 'oh we're the best in the world and you're the poor backwards country and we can show you how to do things better so we'll do things our way' without thinking about the people you're trying to help. Yes, the US has a lot of infrastructure elements that these people envy; water treatment plants, sewage treatment plants, roads, indoor plumbing and running water—but that doesn't necessarily mean that we can go in and 'take over' and insist that they do things our way. Our way may not work for them, so before we start something like this, maybe we should talk to them? Flint said he wants a barrier across the road that can be used to secure access; what if that's against the law in this country? After we're gone, they'll get in trouble."

"I never thought of that," Gung Ho said slowly. "You're right. So who are you going to get?"

"I'm going to go get the headman—the one who greeted us when we got here. We can explain our plan to him, see if the laws permit it, first; see if he agrees to it, second; and third, see if they can help." She smiled sweetly at his puzzled look. "Flint said he wanted a defensive fence but there weren't enough people to do it. He forgot there's a whole village out there who want to protect it just as much as we do. This is a job, a mission, for us; for them, this is their life, their survival. We can build all we want but it's not going to help them in the long run if they don't know how to maintain it, or how to use what we give them." She turned and marched out without another word.

Shana blew out her breath in a sigh. "Alex can be very intense."

Gung Ho grinned. "She said the same thing about you. Both of you are very staunch defenders; Alex with words and ideas, and you with actions and weapons, but you both have passions for the same things."

"I can see her point," and Shana looked sidelong at Snake eyes, who nodded too from where he was sitting on his bedroll, indicating he agreed with her, "but I do have to say I'm a little miffed that I didn't think of that first. Or Flint."

_That's what makes us Joes such a good working team. Everyone brings a different set of experiences and viewpoints to the table and everyone's input is given equal weight and measure, and everyone is open-minded enough to accept that another's idea might be different than our own and be a better solution_. They were all nodding by the time Snake Eyes finished signing.

Alex returned with the headman; he listened to them with a deep frown which at first Gung Ho was thinking was disapproval for the plan, then realized the man was thinking very hard indeed about what they were telling him. After Alex finished speaking he sat silently for a moment, then broke out into a flood of French.

First issue; the laws. No, there were no laws about constructing movable barriers across the road; they had thought about it once but had no idea how to engineer one; all the ones they had seen was in pictures; what came to his mind was the liftable barriers that America used to block cars from railroad tracks when a train was due, and they thought that would require electricity, of which they had some via their diesel generator but was not reliable and could be put to better use in someone's home. If the Joes could construct one that could be raised and lowered by hand without the use of electricity, they would definitely not mind one at each end of the road that went through. Since this road, and Keshero, was the largest village/settlement between Sake and Goma, they had done some trading in tourist souvenirs and commodities which had become the village's largest source of income. "By putting a barrier or gate at each end of the road we can force the cars to stop, increasing our chance to sell our souvenirs," he told them, like the tiny hand-carved wooden flower necklaces Shandi made and the hand-woven, brightly-colored African shawls and garments made by the village women. "If you can make a barrier easy enough for a child to handle, we can put a house right next to it so that one family can tend the barrier. As the adult collects the money the child swings the barrier aside so the car can pass and go on to the souvenir stands and market section."

"Money?" Shana asked.

The man looked at her. "Madame Alex says that you have these things in America, where one must pay a small sum of money in order to travel a road. Since the gatekeeper and his family will be required to tend the gate at all times, they may not have time to gather and prepare food. So it only makes sense that they be paid for their time and effort. A portion of this…toll, I think Madame Alex calls it…will be placed in the village's communal fund and a portion of it will go to the gatekeepers to compensate for their time and attention. If the gate can be operated by a child the adults will be free to pursue their own business, or a child with a crippled parent can have the parent collect the money while the child does the work of raising the gate, giving someone who might not be able to do anything else to contribute the village something to do."

It was the first time Alex had ever seen Scarlett and Gung Ho speechless; both were standing there silent as the old man spun out his plans for Flint's orders. She stole a glance at Snake Eyes and saw amusement glinting in his eyes too; he didn't often get to see Scarlett floored.

Gung Ho recovered his voce first. "Those sound like very good plans, and we are all in favor of them. Our commanding officer also mentioned that he would like to see a fence built around the village, but I assume this is going to be impossible given that it's pouring outside."

The man frowned. "It would be difficult, but it will not be impossible. With the ground soaked from the rain, the mud will be easy to drive logs into so long as the ends are sharpened, and when the dry season comes the mud will harden to almost like stone. Yes, this fence will be doable." He smiled dryly at Scarlett, who had still been unable to say a word. "You were not expecting to hear such talk from one such as I."

"I...no…no, I did not," Scarlett replied. "Wisdom comes from unexpected places at times, and only a fool would not recognize it when they hear it—or to learn the lesson such wisdom imparts." She finished wryly, "I am many things, but not a fool."

"Wise child," the old man's face broke into a mass of wrinkles as he smiled. "Now, shall we get on with the building of the fence and the barriers?"

The six members of the recon team set out together, but just past the first hundred yards of road they all went their separate ways. Flint watched as Spirit and Recondo, Recoil and Brawler all disappeared into the gray curtain of pouring rain that surrounded them, and frowned slightly. It suddenly seemed very lonely…

"You feel like, for one minute, you're the only person left in the world." Cam said quietly from behind him, her voice pitched to carry over the gentle patter of rain. "Like those movies where something terrible happened to the rest of the world and you're the only one left. You almost expect a zombie or something to jump out of the rain at you."

Flint laughed as he turned to her. "That's exactly what it feels like, with the exception of the zombies. Those aren't real."

"I know," she said, picking a direction apparently at random and starting to walk. "But it's kind of fun to pretend sometimes."

He shrugged as he followed her. "Allie likes laughing at those. She tries to drag me out to every one of those horror movies when they come out. Me, I'm a bit more of the practical type."

"There are things out there so much scarier, and unfortunately more real, than zombies and made-up monsters. I used to think the way you do; they aren't real."

"What changed your mind?" They were going up a steep incline now, and Cam motioned for silence until they got to the top of the hill.

"You want to know what changed my mind? Charlie. I swear the man picks out every deliberately gruesome, ugly, disgusting horror move just so he can watch me scream and hide my head." Cam paused, doing a couple of squats to work the fatigue out of the leg muscles she'd just used to get to the top of the hill. "Can I ask you something? Why do guys do that? I asked Charlie and he just laughed and wouldn't tell me." Rather belatedly, she added, "Sir. Sorry."

"It's okay. Cam, I realize that this is your first mission with us so you don't know the rules yet, but one of the ones we adhere to while out here is that there is no rank. I'm not a Warrant Officer unless something comes up that requires Authority To Make A Decision." She could hear the capital letters. "So out here, I'm just another one of the guys. Don't hesitate to talk to me exactly as you would them, because our work is incredibly dangerous and if you try to lean on formality here that split second could potentially end up getting someone killed."

She nodded. "Okay, gotcha."

He grinned. "Now, in answer to your question—you answered your own. We guys still have this streak of old-fashioned chivalry in us; we like to be the…the…"

"Big strong macho guy?" She asked with a twinkle in her eye as they started moving again, heading left along the ridge of the hill they'd just ascended.

"Yes, that's it. We like being the big strong macho guys, and while we like having you girls fight alongside us, and we know you're every bit as capable as we are, every once in a while we like reminding you tough, capable ladies that there is a reason you keep us around, even if it's kind of ornamental and purely for our ego." His rueful smile softened his words.

Cam laughed as they came to a stop at the edge of the top of the hill. "All right, I'll give you that."

He looked around them, then back at the way they'd come. He'd ordered waterproof gear for everyone on this mission knowing it was the middle of the rainy season, but he hadn't counted on just how much rain was actually involved. He could barely see more than twenty feet in each direction; anything further than that was lost in the gray curtain of the surrounding downpour. "Cam…I didn't pay attention to where we were walking—do you have any idea where we are?"

"Yeah. This hill is a pretty good vantage point for about a third of the area I was assigned to cover for today so I started out going in a southeasterly direction to get here. I'm hoping that the rain will slack off for just a few minutes, give me an overview of the terrain. According to the maps, there's a lake this way, and if you're going to kidnap children as slaves you're going to need a source of fresh water until your slave transporters get there. Also, it'll be easier to get them out by water than getting out through jungle overland; given the altitude and the fact that we're in on a gradual slope the lake probably drains into a river and the river eventually will drain down to the sea—so it makes sense that they'd be here in our search area."

Flint stared at her. "Did you tell Recoil? He's technically in charge of the recon teams for this mission as Gung Ho is in charge of the home team."

"I didn't tell him, no, because I don't want him to get tunnel vision because he thinks they are definitely going to be by the lake. If, as is possible, the children from the village slowed down too much, they could have just killed them, and if they did that they would have gone further inland, not towards the lake. So while I think it is likely they'll be in our search areas by the lake, it is equally likely that they could be inland where Spirit and Recoil's teams are." She pushed a lock of wet hair out of her face and said, "Hey, look, it's clearing up a little."

The rain was slacking off a tad bit, and Flint whistled as he saw the view from the top of this hill Cam had picked out. While the hill itself wasn't high enough to lift them out of the treeline, it was high enough to get them a decent way off ground level and give them a general overview o f the land. While it did roll gently in a series of hills and gullies, there was a definite downhill pattern to it, and he could see the rivers of rain in the soil rushing in the direction they were heading, which confirmed Cam's guess that they all did meet somewhere in front of them in a lake of some sort. However, "I don't see any signs of human tracks."

"You wouldn't, not in this rain. The whole purpose to coming up here is to get an overview. I was hoping maybe we'd get lucky and the Goddess would give us a break; maybe put the camp right where we can see it easily, but of course it's not going to be that easy. We'll just have to work our way downward following the river." She pointed to the rivers in the soil in front of her. "Follow the water. And keep an eye out for anything like broken branches that might signify they went down a different path."


	11. Chapter 11: Defense

**Chapter 11: Defense**

He was tired, he was wet, and he was hungry.

He was, however, also a soldier, and he knew how to put aside physical discomfort in favor of getting the mission done; but it was still a relief when they broke out of the forest and he felt flat asphalt under his feet. Road meant flat walking for a little while, and flat walking meant they'd be back in the hut soon, and he could get out of his sopping wet fatigues. No matter how good the Army's raingear was, apparently it couldn't compete with an African monsoon season.

Cam said cheerfully, "We're almost there. Just a little longer."

He glared at her in mock annoyance. "Do you always have to be so damned cheerful?" All that day she'd kept up a quiet but steady stream of chatter. Not loud enough to drown out the sounds of the jungle around them, but the topics of conversation had been engrossing enough that it had kept the part of Flint's mind not occupied with the mission busy. Despite her age and experiences, she could be naïve about certain things—mostly about relationships between men and women. At one point he'd thought she was just playing with him; how could a twenty-five year old woman be that unacquainted with how the male mind worked? But he gradually gathered that yes, she really was that inexperienced with close relationships and that clueless; by her own admission she had never had a best friend before—Jack Hammond had been more a beloved little brother than a friend—and so she was ignorant of some of the finer points of interpersonal relationships.

He was struggling to explain why and how he could fight with Allie so loudly and passionately and still remain friends and lovers when Cam suddenly frowned and held up a hand in the universal request for silence as she peered through the darkening rainy twilight. "Wait. The village is unusually busy right now. It wasn't that busy when we left."

Flint stared in amazement as they rounded the bend and he got his first look at what Keshero had made of his idea. There was now a railroad-crossing type barrier obstructing the road with a simple pulley system that would move the arm, and as he watched, a young man with one homemade crutch and one empty pant leg came out from a small lean-to beside that barrier, followed by a small boy with an impish grin.

"You want to use the road, you pay a toll, missah!" the little urchin grinned devilishly.

"A toll?" Flint's mind stumbled over the concept. This wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he'd told Gung Ho he wanted to defend the ingress and egress points to the village!

The taller man—boy, Flint realized when the lad looked up. Barely out of his teens, and already missing a leg!—braced himself on the crutch and swatted the younger boy gently. "Be polite. This is one of the soldiers, the one who was captured with Madame Alex." He smiled at Flint. "Be welcome, Monsieur Flint." At Flint's mystified look, the boy frowned. "That is what Madame Alex calls you. We heard. It is not right?"

Flint shook himself out of his astonishment. "It's fine, son. So…you two are the gatekeepers?"

The little boy interrupted, nodding vigorously. "Yes we are. The headman told us that Madame Alex's soldiers would build us the tollgate and we would tend the gate. When someone comes up my brother collects the toll and I move the gate. Madame Alex's friend, the one with the fire hair, taught us what a speed limit was and said that we should make sure the vehicles moving along the road slow down. She taught us how to make signs." He pointed proudly to a newly-erected crude signpost with a sign atop it that said 'slow for children'. Flint recognized Shana's handwriting.

"And when the cars slow down they have a chance to see the tourist goods we offer, and if we are friendly and polite they will be more inclined to buy," the older boy said, shifting his grip on the knobby piece of wood that served as a crutch. Flint winced at the calluses on that hand, thought somewhat longingly of the aluminum crutches Hawk had used after he'd been shot in Columbia by Sandra. This boy could have used them.

He pushed aside the thought and smiled at the two young boys, looking up at him with…hope? Like they had never had a father, and looked up to him, and were hoping for his approval, and after seeing that, he softened. "Very good, soldier. Carry on." The older boy stood a little straighter, and the younger one snapped a military salute. And it was correct, too, which made him wonder what Gung Ho had been doing that day while Scarlett had been making signs and teaching them what a speed limit was.

The six members of the recon team moved further into the village, and Hawk stared amazed at the amount of work that seemed to be in progress. There was another barrier at the main turnoff to the road, this time manned by an woman so old her face was nothing but a mass of wrinkles and a young boy about seven or eight, and as they got near the hut that had been designated for their use, Flint saw vaguely through the gathering darkness the road at the other end of the village had yet another tollgate, though he couldn't see who manned it this time.

He strolled into the hut, put his things down, and faced the four soldiers he'd left there this morning; White Queen, Scarlett, Gung Ho, and Snake Eyes. He addressed Gung Ho directly. "The village doesn't look the same as it did when I left it this morning, Gunnery Sergeant."

"Uh, no Sir, it doesn't." Gung Ho squared his shoulders. "You did give directions, Flint, but we decided it would be…polite...to let the villagers know what we were doing before we did it. It is their village after all." He winced at the slight defensive note in his voice. "And they had some ideas of their own to improve the improvements we were making for them, improvements that would bring in money as well as provide employment for those who otherwise would not be able to contribute."

Unbidden, Flint's thoughts flashed back to the empty pant leg on the teenager by the gate. How hard must that be, to be missing a leg before you'd even begun to live, to know your village was struggling to survive and prosper in a harsh land and know you could do nothing?

"We had to bring them into this. As Alex pointed out, it _is_ their village and they _are_ going to have to live with whatever we do after we're gone. It made sense to have their input and advice and take their suggestions into account." Shana read his mind. "And we are going to be leaving them better than when they found it. In a few years this could be a lively tourist attraction and souvenir hunter's paradise."

Flint sighed. "It's already done so it's not like I can stop you, either you or them. So what else are they doing, besides the concept of a toll gate, a speed limit and a slow for children sign?"

"They're building that fence you wanted." Alex grinned at his discomfited look. "Doing this now while the ground is soft means they can drive the log poles deeper with less effort. The ground dries to almost brick-like hardness during the dry season, so it would actually be harder to make the fence then than it would be now. They are constructing a split-log fence with each end sharpened to a point and driven into the ground, then they plan on building a stockade tower on the corners so that people can defend the village in need be."

"Defend?" Flint blinked. "But these are villagers. They have no military training, no arms knowledge. How are they going to—" he stopped because Alex was shaking her head.

"Flint, these people are not helpless. No matter what they look like to you. Do you remember the two boys at the tollgate you came in at?" Flint nodded. "The older one lost his leg when he killed the rogue soldier who'd just bayoneted his parents. They cut off his leg in retribution and they took his little brother, brainwashed him, and gave him a gun so he could serve as a child soldier in Joseph Kony's army." She saw his shocked look. "That little brother is now helping him watch that gate. The UN might have taken their guns away, but they haven't lost the skills. You would know that, being a soldier yourself."

"Do they have knowledge with any other weapons?" Cam asked suddenly from behind Flint.

"You know, I don't know that." Alex looked at her thoughtfully.

"It can't hurt to try," Shana nodded decisively.

Cam turned to Flint. "When are we leaving tomorrow morning?"

Flint was by now completely lost. Gung Ho and the other guys all looked similarly puzzled except Snake Eyes. He locked eyes with Shana, and Flint could have sworn that was a smile under the balaclava he wore.

Gung Ho spoke first. "Uh, hello. Me dumb male here, not speak female. Female translate?"

Alex gasped in a breath and started laughing so hard she had to sit down. Shana stood there trying desperately hard not to follow suit, but a few minutes later all three women were sitting on the floor of the hut laughing so hard they were holding each other upright.

Shana recovered first, looking at Flint as she wiped tears from her eyes. "Do you trust us?"

"Am I going to regret this?" He should order them to tell him what they were planning, but something told him he might not like this if they told him. At the same time, however, he did trust these women, his soldiers—yes, even Alex—and sometimes you just had to trust your people.

Shana went quiet for a moment, thinking…and that was the point at which Flint knew he was going to give her permission to do whatever it was they were planning. If it was something lighthearted she would have fired back an immediate snappy retort—she was a redhead, after all. A natural one. And she had the temper to match. But the fact that she was thinking seriously about it meant that it was, under the banter, serious, and he did trust Shana implicitly.

"No," she said finally, and her green eyes were serious. "No, you're not going to regret it."

"Go ahead." He nodded to her, and she, Alex, and Cam relaxed. "Now, I don't know about anyone else, but I am starving and I could really use something to eat right about now." He eyed their ration packs slightly wistfully; that rice and vegetable dish the villagers had given them the night before had actually been very tasty and he was not looking forward to their prepackaged meals.

"Don't look like that." Alex grinned as she got up off the floor and went to the fireplace hearth, and for the first time since he came in he saw the clay pot sitting by the hearth. "We traded a few of our ration packs with the villagers. After the way you guys cleaned the bowl out last night I figured you liked it so I got some more. Tonight it's rice and vegetable stew. They eat this day in and day out, Flint, they're as tired of it just as much as you get tired of the ration packs. I didn't see anything wrong with a little trade."

Flint stared at her. "Why do you even need me on this trip?" he grouched, but his grumping was half-hearted at best; the savory smells coming from that little clay pot was making his stomach growl. "Looks like the whole lot of you would do just fine without me."

"You're just here to referee squabbles," Shana joked. "Come on. You're dripping rainwater on the floor and turning it to mud. Go change into dry fatigues in the bathroom and eat."

Flint disappeared into the tiny bathroom, and oh, it was a relief to finally get dry and change into dry clothes. You wouldn't think that straw roof could be so effective, he mused as he pulled his pants on, then grabbed a square of some kind of woven material that was hanging on a wooden peg in the back of the door and applied it to his hair. He didn't think of it as much of a towel, certainly nothing like the huge plush bath towels Allie got (and which he borrowed every chance he got, to her secret amusement) but to his absolute surprise, it got him dry in the same amount of time; the woven material sucked up water almost better than those towels. He meant to ask Alex about it, but when he got out he found the guys tucking into the vegetable stew and none of the three women in sight. "Where'd they go?"

Snake Eyes pointed out the door with his spoon. Flint rolled his eyes. "They go off to start that…whatever it was they were talking about?" Snake Eyes nodded. "Is there still going to be a village left standing when they're done?"

Snake Eyes laughed silently. Flint rolled his eyes again and sat down on his bedroll, grabbing his military issue bowl and helping himself to some of the stew. He'd find out what The Girls were up to eventually.

He just wasn't sure he would like it when he found out.

When he woke up the next morning Shana and Alex were sitting by the hearth nibbling on MRE ration packs with Snake Eyes, Gung Ho, Charlie, and Recoil. Flint got up, stretched, and headed for the hearth; it was still dark outside, so it wasn't time to wake anyone up yet. "Did you two even get any sleep last night?" he asked as he scooped some of last night's leftovers on to his plate and sat down to eat.

"Some," Alex said, and Shana grinned. "We got back with Cam around oh-one-hundred and she rolled right in, we crashed too but we got up to discuss a few plans. Left her asleep a little longer, she's going to spend the day out there with you in the jungle and she's going to need it."

"I would have ordered her back here and not let her come with us, but her expertise in homemade weapons using natural materials was invaluable. I may know how to use a crossbow but I would not be able to put one together from scratch." Shana sighed. "Something else I need to get her to teach me."

A soft buzzing sound interrupted him, and Flint spun, looking for the source of the noise. A moment later, he identified it as coming from—the girls' sleeping area? "Is that…Cam?"

Charlie wasn't even trying to hide the grin. "Yes."

"Holy cow—she snores like a buzz saw!"

Charlie held up an admonishing finger. "'Uh uh, we don't call those cute little sounds snoring, no matter what it sounds like. Girls don't snore." Flint looked at Shana and Alex, who managed to keep a straight face for all of about two seconds before they started giggling.

Shana sobered first. "Yes, she snores, but she can't help it. She suffered some permanent damage to her airways, lungs and throat when the fire scarred her body." She saw Flint and Charlie's shocked looks. "What, you didn't know?"

Charlie shook his head wordlessly.

"That's why you never see her drinking something very hot or very cold, and she almost never drinks anything but water. The heat and smoke from the fire seared her throat and lungs when she was trapped in it, and damaged the mucous membranes in her sinuses, nasal cavity and throat. It means when she gets a cold she's not going to have a runny nose or sinus congestion because the mucous membranes don't swell like ours do because of the damage, but the downside is that she doesn't have that 'natural humidifier' warming the air she breathes, so she wears a scarf when the air gets cool and dry. Snake Eyes has the same problem, just to a lesser degree, so I asked him right before Cam and Charlie left to make one of his humidifier masks for her when it's cold."

"I…didn't know." Flint felt horrible for teasing about her snoring.

Apparently Shana read his mind, because she said, "Don't worry. Cam jokes about it herself. It's not just when she's sleeping; when we've had a very strenuous workout and she's breathing very, very hard, she sounds like that. I've learned that when we're working out with our swords or when we're sword-dancing, when that sound starts it's going to be time to stop soon. Because her lungs are scarred they don't have the same elasticity ours does, so by pushing her just a tiny bit further I can try and expand them more, but too much and it's a disaster. I pushed her too hard once and ended up having to take her to the infirmary so Doc could give her oxygen. I've been much more careful after that; instead of two three hour sessions a week I've expanded it to four sessions of an hour and a half. She'll still get the training time but it won't stress her lungs. And I dressed her down a couple of times when she overdid it on the treadmill in the gym…she said she needed to develop her lung capacity so her stamina and endurance wouldn't become a liability, but I told her it wasn't that urgent and she didn't have to push herself—I'm working on that with her at the same time we're playing in the dojo." She frowned at Flint. "So if you're out there in the jungle and she starts wheezing like that, stop her and take a break. I didn't think I'd have to warn you since the terrain here is so rough and her muscles will get tired before her lungs are strained, but you should still know anyway."

"I'll consider myself warned." Flint set his jaw in determination. He thought he'd heard some strained breathing from her the other day but he wasn't sure; now he was. It wasn't going to happen again, even if he had to claim that he needed a break just to make her slow down.


	12. Chapter 12: Show

**Chapter 12: Show**

The younger gatekeeper greeted them with the same cheeky enthusiasm with which he'd greeted Flint the day before (minus the demand for a toll fee) but the older lad snapped a military salute as Flint and his team walked by, and all six of them responded in kind, which made the lad flush with pleasure and stand a little straighter when they'd gone by. "Jesus," Recoil murmured softly as they headed down the main road toward their hut. "They're so young, and no parents. This place sucks, Flint. I don't blame Alex for wanting to get them out of here."

Flint had to agree. They'd spent another long day tramping around out there in the woods; according to the covered area they'd shaded on each of their maps, all three teams had covered more than the targeted five square miles a day Recoil had set. The first day they'd worked back and forth in a pattern designed to check each square foot of ground, marking trees with cuts in the bark so they knew where they'd been and so their search area didn't overlap another team's. Today they'd been able to blaze straight through the area that had been searched the day before, had gotten to new ground, and covered almost eight square miles of jungle with the same back-and-forth search pattern. The rain had been a steady downpour today, not like yesterday where there had been some periods of lighter rain in between heavier periods, and all six of them were drenched, wet, and miserable; even Cam's cheerful encouragement seemed to be flagging a little, although that could have been because she was tired from having been up late the evening before.

At least the rain had nearly stopped on their way back to the village; right now the rain was a light mist that promised to stop altogether soon.

As they entered the main square of the village, however, it was immediately apparent that while the Joes might be tired and miserable and unaccustomed to the drenching downpour, the villagers were laboring under no such handicap. The fence was well under way; the villagers had completed the section from the tollgate at the south end of the village to the tollgate on the eastern end and work was progressing on the fence from the eastern gate to the northern one.

What stopped Flint in his tracks was the sight of Shana standing at the front of a group of villagers, holding a long wooden staff. In front of her, those villagers—females from the age of about ten to old women with wrinkled faces—were holding similar staffs, using lunge and parry moves Flint was absolutely certain were modified from the swordwork Scarlett was so familiar with; off to one side, Snake Eyes was doing the same for a group of males. And, at the far end of the village square, Alex and Gung Ho were supervising the archery efforts of a number of other villagers, mostly children; several crude straw-thatch man-sized targets were set up on sticks and the villagers, equipped with what was plainly homemade bows and arrows, were actually having fairly good luck hitting the targets (to judge by the number of arrows already bristling out of them.)

Cam peeled out of the group with Flint and walked over to where a group of old women were sitting next to large piles of branches. As Flint watched, she inspected the stick one of the women was holding, pointed to something along the length of it, and the woman used a knife to take a sliver of wood off from along the length. Cam nodded, patted the woman's shoulder and said something that made the old woman smile, then headed back to the recon team. "I guess I know what you Girls were planning last night," Flint waved a hand in the direction of the practicing villagers.

"Yes. Think about it, Flint, it makes sense. Not only are we giving them a passive defense for their town, we're also giving them an active defense. They came up with a way to make some sections of the fence quickly removable in an emergency; the plan is that those who do well with the bows and arrows will defend the walls while the rest of the villagers escape by the emergency gates out into the jungle—they're more like escape trapdoors—and then the archers will follow, providing cover while the rest go to ground in hidden shelters they've dug out in the jungle there." She waved to the darkening jungle outside the village walls. "Those who can come back out to fight will; they can use those staves to trip a rogue running past, hit them over the head, and melt back into the underbrush as quickly as they came. They can hide in the trees and shoot arrows downward, taking rogue soldiers out with surprise. Gung Ho and I are also working on a few nasty little booby-traps out there; pits with sharpened stakes, tripwires made of vine that will impale victims on sharpened logs, things like that, and once the rainy season comes to an end and the ground dries out some, they'll construct an escape tunnel in case the rogues have Keshero surrounded.

"But how many of those archers can you get trained to be accurate?" Flint looked doubtfully at the straw man targets.

"A lot of the villagers here are former draftees for those rogue militias. The kids themselves, most of them, were handed guns by the LRA under Joseph Kony and taught to use them; these kids, by and large, have the best eye. Guns are, when you take away the explosive powder, just projectile weapons, and arrows are also projectile weapons. It only requires a little bit of practice for them to adjust, which they are doing quite well." Cam sighed. "Looks like the rain's stopping—it doesn't happen often during the rainy season, so with your permission, after we get settled I'd like to come back out here and work with the villagers some more. Last night I went over construction of basic bows and arrows with them—that's what the old women are doing, they have the best skills with knives after years of cooking with them. This evening I want to figure out how to make crossbows so those with only one usable hand can still defend. Alex is going to talk to the UN and the ICC later about letting the villagers have weapons to defend themselves."

And here came Alex, as if mentioning her name had called her attention. "Practically every village in the DRC has their own, most of them stolen from the rogues themselves; Keshero is the only one that doesn't because the UN rules said they couldn't, and everyone knows that so that makes this village a sitting duck. It was a stupid oversight, and I tried telling Judy so, but no one listened because they said no one would dare attack them knowing that they were under ICC/UN protection. And as usual when you let bureaucrats make the decision, the people pay the price." She turned to Cam. "I know you're tired, but if you could—"

"She just asked me." Flint rolled his eyes. "It's not as if I could actually tell you girls not to do something if you already have your hearts set on it…not and have you still listen to me."

"_So_ glad you can see reason," Shana said sweetly as she came up behind Alex. "See, I told you, Joe males are still thickheaded, but they are just slightly less thickheaded than most other men so you can still reason with them."

"Watch it, Master Sergeant, I'm still your commanding officer," Flint said, but there was no force behind his voice. He could see how the village needed some form of defense, he could see the illogic behind Alex's exasperation that the UN had forbidden this one camp weapons when they, out of every other village in the country, most needed it because they were testifying against their criminal countrymen and corrupt military. If the UN/ICC forces weren't actively stationed in this witness protection camp, then the people should have ways to defend themselves. And although he knew that bows, arrows and staffs were a poor replacement for guns and a good solid bullet, strategic use of primitive weapons could damage a superior force. And if anyone was qualified to teach that to African tribespeople, it was a group of US military who, despite the advanced arsenal available to them, could still see the value in archaic weaponry and knew how to use said archaic weaponry effectively. "Yes, Cam can go…BUT," he stressed the 'but' as Cam started to head for the villagers practicing archery, "I want you back before we're all ready to turn in. Shana and Gung Ho and Snake Eyes can stay up all night if they want to, but you have to get up tomorrow morning and go out into the jungle with me again so you need to sleep." For just a moment he knew what Hawk must feel like, telling Courtney that she and Wayne had to be back from their bar crawl early because they had duty the next day; slightly like a father telling his kids they had to be in by curfew. And from the wry twist in Shana's lips, he knew she knew what he was thinking.

Cam, however, had never had to get into an argument with parents about curfew, had never sneaked out of the house late at night to hang out with friends, so she didn't see it in a parent-and-child light. She simply nodded and said "Yes sir," and was off before he could think twice and change his mind. Shana gave him one more quick grin and headed off after Cam, followed closely by Alex, and the five remaining men watched the women disappear.

"You know, we men really don't rule the world. They just let us think we do." Charlie muttered as he watched his wife pick up a bow and an arrow and casually, almost carelessly, plant the arrow in the middle of the straw man.

Flint grinned. "And that means you're becoming a smart husband." He laughed at the dirty look Charlie gave him, and slapped the other man on the back. "Come on, let's head for shelter and get something to eat."

Although he was a bit tired and he knew everyone else was too, after they ate their ration packs (supplemented by some fresh greens that Spirit had found that Recondo said was edible and was indeed good) none of them could sleep. Maybe it was the absence of the rain; it had stopped completely for the first time since they'd land in the Congo, and after hearing the constant muted pattering for four days the sudden quiet was slightly unnerving. They tried playing cards, but no one's heart was in it and finally Flint sighed. "Why don't we go see what kind of trouble The Girls are getting up to?"

The rain had indeed stopped, and the village square had been turned into something resembling a party. Flaming torches were stuck into the muddy ground at intervals around the main square, and branches laid on the ground marked the perimeter of a circle. The villagers were all sitting outside that circle looking in with wide eyes; several of them sat beating drums of different sizes cradled in their laps; Flint, wondering what they were looking at, looked up, into the circle of torches—and almost forgot to breathe.

"Holy Mother of—" Recoil couldn't even finish his sentence.

In the middle of that ring of fire two figures circled each other, in rhythm to the beat of the drums. Both were dressed in military fatigues, both women; the only difference was that one had a long red ponytail and one had a long black ponytail. Both circled each other, each one holding two swords. Cam, taking full advantage of Hawk's edict that said each person in his unit should dress and wear and use those weapons most familiar and comfortable to them, had brought her twin-blade swords with her; she'd used it a couple of times to cut back heavy brush, a part of Flint's mind remembered vaguely, but his attention was on the spectacle in front of them.

They were both graceful; Shana from years of martial arts, Cam from a childhood spent training for life as a classical ballet dancer, but to Flint's eyes, Cam was more beautiful to watch. Her grace was different than Shana's catlike agility; Flint, watching her, was reminded of a butterfly winging through sunlit air, touching ground only when she had to. While Shana seemed grounded, rooted, Cam drifted like a creature of air, her feet barely touching the ground.

Then Shana blinked—and the two women lunged for each other. The drums increased the beat barely a half-second later, keeping pace with the pitch of the 'battle' before them.

Steel rang and drums rolled as swords clashed, bounced off each other, connected again. Flint saw both women straining to maintain contact, then they almost literally danced away from each other, resuming their circling. When Cam lunged next, Shana wasn't there; she ducked under Cam's swing, dove forward until Cam was behind her, then dropped to one knee and cut low in a spinning half-circle; a stroke that, had it connected, would have bitten deep into Cam's Achilles tendon and hamstrung her.

Except her ankles weren't there when Shana's sword sliced through the space where she'd been standing bare seconds before. She was airborne in a balletic leap that took her over Shana's head and to the ground on the other side of the redhead, where she dropped into a low crouch with her sword ready for another attack. For just a moment both women paused in identical crouches, one leg tucked under them, one extended; then Cam attacked first, rushing in with both her swords moving in a whirling, deadly shining arc.

Flint had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting a warning; he knew Shana had control over her swords, but, having never yet seen Cam spar with Shana, he didn't know what kind of control Cam had. But Cam stopped just short of Shana, her blades coming to a stop crossed in front of her.

Shana waited for Cam to stop moving before she started swinging; this time, it was with one sword, flashing in a figure eight in front of her, then behind, then in front. If she'd been running through a battlefield with her swords moving like this—well, Flint had heard the old adage 'a running man can slit a thousand throats in a single night.' Shana could have easily dispatched half a battlefield with that move.

This time when she stopped Cam lunged for her again, and their swords rang as they closed again, sparks flying as blade crashed against blade. Both women leaned toward each other, their entire body's weight through behind the hilts of their swords, and Flint found himself unconsciously holding his breath.

That was when the attack came from the side that neither woman expected.

A black shadow detached himself from the far side of the circle, armed with two swords. Not the short twin blades Cam was using, but the two butterfly swords that he wore slung across his back, each one maybe three or four inches longer than Cam and Shana's twin blades.

As one the two women attacked him.

Flint would never afterward be able to describe the 'battle' that followed. Cam and Shana moved in concert, each mirroring the other, flanking Snake Eyes and forcing him to defend himself; but even with the apparent fierceness of the clash, none of the three lost their deadly grace and stark beauty; as they wove their way around each other it seemed more like a dance involving three people than a deadly swordfight; yet the clash of steel, the sparks that showered off their respective blades, showed they were still engaging and disengaging with all the ferocity of a pitched battle. They moved around the circle, dancing close to the edge of the flames but whirling away at the last minute, daring the flames but never touching them.

As they passed Flint and his silent group (joined unnoticed by Gung Ho and Alex) Flint heard a harsh rasp, and snapped out of his numb awe with a start. It sounded like Cam's breathing, Cam's snoring; she was winded. Flint was about to call a warning when suddenly everything happened at once.

One of the torches, thrust into soft mud, fell over right into the path that Shana was taking the fight. She saw it a moment before she hit it, executed an incredible jump-twist to avoid it, but her foot came down on a rock that turned under her and dumped her sideways onto the ground. Her arms flew wide to catch herself before she hit the ground, her swords flew out of her hands, and one of Snake Eyes' swords, in the middle of describing a circular arc, descended toward her unprotected throat.

And was stopped by two crossed short blades.

Silence descended; even the drums stopped.

Flint's mind replayed the sequence of events in slow-motion. Shana, hitting the ground. Her swords flying out of her hands. Snake Eyes' sword reaching the top of its arc, swinging down, deadly sharp steel, controlled only by gravity, arcing toward milk-pale skin.

And then a flash of fatigue and dark hair come free from its ponytail. Cam, throwing herself down on her back over Shana's prone body. Her swords crossed in front of her, at just the right angle to catch Snake Eyes' blade in the V where they crossed; miraculously stopping the blade that would have drawn Shana's blood had Cam not thrown herself between it and Shana.

For long moments no one even breathed, still paralyzed by how close a call that had been. Cam's harsh breaths were the only sound. Then suddenly a wave of noise swelled from the villagers, a tsunami of sound; whistles, cheers, claps, shouts, a thousand drums beating at once at the incredible show they'd just seen.


	13. Chapter 13: Found

**Chapter 13: Found**

"Let's not tell them how close a call that actually was. Let them think we were perfectly in control and had it all planned." Shana sat down on the end of Snake Eyes' bedroll with a groan, rubbing her sore ankle.

_Shana, I am so sorry…_

"Snake Eyes, that's the umpteenth time you've said that. Stop apologizing. You didn't know I was going to trip over a damn rock and fall in the path of your sword, and I know it was too late for you to pull back. If Cam hadn't gotten between me and your sword it probably would have just left a shallow cut right down the middle of the front of my chest."

_Or_ _it could have cut much deeper. It would have been so much worse. I should have—_

"Stop." And when Shana got that edge in her voice no one disobeyed her, not even a certain ninja master. "Snake Eyes. Could've, would've, should've. None of it's going to do any good here. What's done is done. It's over with and no one died and no one even got hurt. Except my ankle." She made a face at it.

_Shana—_

"Snake Eyes. If you say you're sorry One. More. Time. I _will_ hit you and it's _not_ going to be playful. Knock it off. Accidents happen." She sighed. "I was too wrapped up in what we were doing and I wasn't paying attention to Cam's wind. She sounds terrible. Are you guys going to be able to sleep through that?" She jerked her thumb back toward the women's sleeping area, where the buzzsaw of Cam's snoring was starting.

"After what I saw, no. She can snore as loud as she wants to." Flint was still shaken. Despite what Shana had said, he could still see the grisly image of what-could-have-been, of seeing Shana lying dead on the ground with Snake Eyes' sword sticking out of her chest. "Thank God for Cam's reflexes and her self-sacrificing nature—and the skills with a sword that you've drummed into her, Shana." He saw her face go thoughtful. "Yes, you taught her swordwork, and you are an excellent teacher because she's learned what you tried to teach her, and I'd say she's learned it more than adequately."

"She pays attention. Which is more than I can say for some of the other boneheads I've tried to teach." Her glare was for Gung Ho, who just shrugged unrepentantly.

"C'mon, Shana, I just don't move that way. I'm not built to move that way." Gung Ho rolled his eyes. For a moment Flint thought Shana was going to argue with him some more, but then she just shook her head.

"It's late and you guys have to go out early tomorrow. So let's roll in and get some rest. I think I'll keep this cold pack on my ankle a little longer." She had grabbed one of their dry chemical cold packs from her duffel bag, folded it in half to break the seal on the two separate chemical packets inside, and was now briskly shaking it to mix the chemical thoroughly. There was just the right amount to make sure the cold pak stayed cold for an hour, which was the recommended amount of time for a wound, so they all retired without further comment.

Flint, however, lay awake for a long time in the dark, his mind replaying the entire scene over and over. As a leader and as Mission Commander, he had a responsibility to make sure wounds and injuries were kept to an acceptable minimum. He still felt intensely guilty about the events that had transpired the last time they were here; he still felt there was something he should have been able to do to keep from being captured by the rogue militia faction, something he should have been able to do to keep Alex safe so she wouldn't have had to suffer the horrible, hideous gang rape and near-death torture she'd experienced.

_Not again. Absolutely not again._ Every time he thought about what had happened before, he reaffirmed that decision_. Not to her, not again._

And it was comforting to know that he had their two best hand-to-hand combat experts along on this mission—and Cam. Now there was a surprise. Flint had to admit privately when he'd seen the short little half-Asian girl come off the transport from North Carolina, after going down there to find Hawk when his SERE class disappeared in the middle of the worst hurricane the East Coast had seen in nearly a century, he'd wondered how she'd managed to get into the Army. Why she'd wanted to go into the Army. Those doubtful feelings, though he didn't air them, persisted through the court martial. Now, however, he wondered that he hadn't seen it before, hadn't listened to Allie when she'd said, with a hint of hope in her voice, that she hoped Cam would choose to stay with the Joes.

Allie had been working with Shana on Cam's CPTSD, and now that he thought about it, Allie had also mentioned that when their counseling sessions were over Shan had drilled Cam in swordwork until they were both exhausted as a way of getting Cam to relieve the stress and bottled-up feelings involved with facing her past. Snake Eyes was the best swordsmaster Flint had ever seen, and the best hand-to hand. Shana came in a very, very close second. Cam…well, she might not be as proficient as Snake Eyes and Shana, might not have had the same lifelong training and dedication, but she learned quickly and only to someone used to watching both Shana and Snake Eyes would have seen the difference in technique between the two women.

Of rather more interest to Flint, as a leader, was Cam's instant recognition of the problem and her chosen reaction to it. If she hadn't done what she did, if her swords hadn't been up and crossed at just the right angle to catch Snake Eyes' blade before gravity pulled it the rest of the way down, the sword would have impaled Shana, or impaled Cam, or worse, gone straight through Cam and injured Shana. There were so many things that could have gone wrong but didn't, thanks to Cam's reflexes and reaction, and it all added up to someone who, if she kept taking lessons from Shana, would be Shana's equal when she got to Shana's age. Shana was about thirty-three or four now, still at her peak with no signs of slowing down; but Flint, looking at Cam, saw a lot in her that reminded him of Shana when she'd first joined ten years before.

It was…oddly comforting.

He finally slept.

"That was some show you and Shana and Snake Eyes put on yesterday."

She regarded him warily. "Seriously or sarcastically?"

"Seriously. Humor is not in my genes, as Allie tells me repeatedly and at length every time the topic comes up in conversation." Cam chuckled, and Flint grinned. "It was a heck of a show. I didn't know you'd gotten that good."

"I've been working with her four times a week for an hour and a half each time. She's taught me a lot. I owe her a lot."

"Is that why you were willing to throw yourself between her and that falling sword? Because you owe her?"

Silence for a long time. Cam was apparently thinking that over; as he watched her mark a tree with a cut in the bark, Flint took the time to stretch, work the kinks out of his back and stretch his leg muscles, then look around.

The rain had started again that morning; when he woke up the ever-present patter of raindrops had accompanied Cam's soft snoring. But although he'd tried to let her sleep as long as possible, she'd woken up and been ready to leave by the time he was, and they had made the trek out here to where they'd stopped the day before. According to their maps, they had made good time; almost seven square miles that first day, six the day after, and if they could just do five today they should hit the lake she'd been talking about and he guessed they'd see if her guess about the rogue camp being by the lake was correct at some point that day.

She finally sighed and started off in a tangential direction; he, knowing full well by now that she NEVER picked a random direction, it was a testament to how good she was that she always knew what direction she was going in and where her eventual goal was. Although he wanted to ask her again, he bit his tongue; over the last few days of talking to her, he knew by now she always answered his questions, but in her own time. So if she had to think, he'd let her think.

"I do owe her." The answer came finally. "But then again, I also owe my Aunt and Uncle for taking me in after Papa died."

"You didn't owe them anything," he said fiercely. "You'd have been better off in an orphanage or a foster home." He was firmly convinced of that.

"It's too late now to think about what could have been, what would have been done, what my life should have been. They don't have any meaning at all here and now, the only thing that matters now is what is." Pragmatic. She really was hanging out too much with Shana, she was even starting to sound like the redhead. "They took me in when there was no one else."

"Did Allie tell you she and Shana and Alex think maybe they might not actually be your Aunt and uncle? That the whole thing was fabricated, a set up? To gain control of a uniquely vulnerable teenaged girl for their schemes?"

"Flint. Please. I don't want to think about it. I tried so hard to get their approval, to get them to care about me after I went to live with them." She didn't say anything further, but Flint understood,. She'd tried so hard to get their approval that she didn't want to think that she had never, once, been anything to them but a money-maker. And he'd seen some of the notebooks and ledgers Allie had been trying so hard to decipher when Cam had been locked up in Arizona; he saw the figures, the amounts of money they'd gotten renting Cam out to vicious pedophiles; Allie had confessed to him that the thought of it made her sick, and he too felt the same sick anger.

"But getting back to Shana. I owe her for the lessons, but I also owe her so much more. She and Allie are the first female friends I've ever had. When I was growing up at Osan with Papa, the other girls were all American, and they snubbed me because I wasn't, even though no one ever dared openly to say something, I could tell that was what they were thinking. So I concentrated on being Jack's big sister and Papa's daughter and tried to make everyone like me. Then later when I went to live with my Aunt and Uncle in New York, I hoped maybe I could make friends with a couple of the other dancers at school, but dancing is so competitive, and I didn't have anything in common with them. They talked about clothes and boys and shopping and city life, and they were so different from everyone I knew on base, and when they started talking about the new purse some designer created that they were going to beg their parents for, what did I have to talk about? Camping in the woods with Papa? The first rabbit I ever cooked and killed all on my own? My first successful overnight wilderness trip? There was so much of a gap between me and them, socially, and there was also a huge gap talent-wise; I was the best dancer in my class and everyone knew it. The teachers rarely ever had to correct me on anything. And that…just kind of made me more lonely. And then there was nothing between the time I was fifteen and broke both my legs until I burned the cabin down.

"Jennifer was my friend, I guess, but…she was still the medicine woman, and she never could look at me without seeing the burned body she first saw when I was brought to the village. I was tired of people looking at me and not seeing who I was, but what I looked like; even Hawk, a little bit. I'll give him credit, after the first time he saw me at SERE training he refused to let it bother him, and I really don't think he even thinks about it anymore, but he's still my CO. And Charlie…" she laughed, a real, lighthearted laugh. "Charlie never saw my scars, he only saw me. I had the good enough sense to marry him." She sobered. "But even though Allie and Shana knew what I looked like, and they saw what happened when Walker…" she swallowed, the memory obviously still painful, "When Walker… assaulted me…in the gym, they acted like it never happened, like it didn't matter. Like they never saw me lying on the floor bleeding. They saw me as I was and approved of what they saw. Shana's been so patient, so kind—generous with her time helping we with some unofficial counseling, never getting mad at me even when I screamed at her, told her to leave me alone, told her I didn't want her help…never got upset because I lost my temper during sword sessions. And she was interested in hearing about my life, my stories, even asked me to teach her how to sword-dance; and we've worked out whole routines, integrating her sword-work with my dancing, and all the time she's just been…honestly interested. No one else in my life has ever been interested in me as a person, what I thought, what I liked, what I wanted, what I dreamed except Papa and Charlie. Her accepting me as I was helped me accept myself. And for that, I owe her everything."

Flint felt shaken. He couldn't imagine what kind of childhood Cam must have had. He'd thought, after reading her file, that she must have been lonely. Isolated, certainly, but he hadn't imagined that even growing up on base she'd been the loner, the misfit, the odd one out. And it explained her dedication to the Joes; for the first time, she must feel like she belonged somewhere. And Charlie…oh, Charlie must have had her heart the minute she'd seen him because of his acceptance and devotion and love. There hadn't been many people who loved her, truly, in her entire life.

"I'm sorry," he said, while at the same time feeling the emptiness of the words. There just wasn't anything else he could say.

"For what?" she gave him a backward glance, and what she saw must have caught her attention because she stopped in the act of starting to ascend a steep hill just in front of him. "Flint. Don't. I don't want pity, okay? I don't want you to feel sorry because my life wasn't like yours, because I didn't have parents and a stable home and a loving family, didn't have a regular school and friends. That wasn't what I intended when I started talking to you. There's nothing you or anyone can do to change the past, but you can make me not feel like an outsider by just treating me as a normal person. It's the one thing I want, more than anything; to be absolutely, completely, freaking _normal_!" Her fist pounded the dirt of the hillside. "That is why I tried so hard not to tell anyone about my scars, about my past, about everything. I just want to be normal."

"Then that's what you're going to get. No pity, no tears, no pussyfooting. If all you want is to be normal, Cam, then that is what you're going to get from us, okay? Forget about everything that happened. We're never going to bring it up again." He held out a hand. She shook it, once solemnly; an unspoken promise. Then they turned and climbed to the top of the hill.

And dropped back down again, hearts instantly racing. "Think they saw us?" Cam breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Flint didn't respond for a moment, listening. When there was no movement from the other side of the hill, they both cautiously picked their heads up. To Flint, the layout looked achingly, painfully familiar. A couple of concrete huts, the rest of the buildings made in the traditional way, thatched roofs keeping everyone dry in the downpour.

Except for the little group of children huddled in an open-air dog pen in the center of the village, completely unprotected from the pouring rain.

"Are those…" Cam narrowed her eyes against the driving rain, squinting slightly. "They have to be, there's no one else they could be. They have to be the children they're looking for."

Flint watched the children intently, trying to count heads through the driving rain. They were all huddled together in a miserable heap, so it was hard to count, but it became unnecessary in the next minute as one of the children moved, detached herself from the others, crawled to the corner of the pen and crouched under the ragged skirt to relieve herself. As she dragged herself painfully back up, Flint saw the heavy cumbersome braces on her legs, braces that he remembered Gung Ho making for Shandi the last time they'd been there, made from trim stripped from the van Alex had been driving.

"Those are the children we're looking for," he confirmed for Cam grimly as he dropped back down behind the crest of the hill. "But there's no way we're going to get them all out of there on our own. We're going to have to get the others. We do exactly what we planned; an extraction team with Alex there to reassure the kids that we're the good guys, the cover team to provide cover fire and ensure their safe retreat." He grabbed his radio. "Gold team to Red team and Blue team. Come in."

The radio crackled to life. "Red team." Another crackle. "Blue team."

"We've located the missing children. The rogues have a camp by the small lake along the river that was in our search area. Proceed to meet us here with all possible speed."

"Roger, Gold Team Leader. Over and out." Flint nodded in satisfaction, then hit the button again. 'Gold team to base team."

No answer but a loud crackle of static.

He tried again. "Gold Team to Base team." Again no answer. "Damn it, either they left the radio in the hut and went out with the villagers or this worsening storm is messing up the signal." The rain was absolutely pouring right now; he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen so much rain. "This is worse than a hurricane."

Cam's lips quirked in a wry smile, but she forebore to comment. "I can move faster and quicker. I'll head back to Keshero and alert everyone we found them." And she was gone, slipping through the underbrush like a shadow, _Hang on,_ he told the children silently, willing them to hear him. _Hang on. Help is coming. We're going to get you out of there._

And then he saw a man step out of one of the concrete huts, and rage washed his vision in red. Zimurinda. There was no mistaking the dark features; those features, twisted in sadistic glee, had haunted Flint's nightmares along with the sound of Alex's screams.


	14. Chapter 14: Rescue

**Chapter 14: Rescue**

"Cam! What's wrong?" Alex gasped as she saw the panting young woman duck past the barrier at the south end of the village and come flying up to them. She was disheveled, like she'd run all the way here without worrying what the trees and underbrush would do to her hair.

Cam was so winded she couldn't get any words out; Alex looked around, saw Gung Ho, and waved him over. He saw who was with her and was by her side in a moment. Across the square Alex saw Shana and Snake Eyes break off what they were doing and head for them at a dead run.

"Cam. Don't try to talk." Shana commanded as soon as she was in earshot. "Bend over and put your head between your knees. Take in deep breaths, as deep as you can manage. Sit down if you have to. Don't tighten up your abdominals, it'll be harder for you to get a deep breath." Although they were all dying to know what had happened, there was no way they'd get anything useful out of her if she couldn't breathe, and she'd pushed herself to the limit to get to them; all three could hear the warning rasp in her breathing pattern.

"Don't….have time. Found…kids. Lake. Flint…called recon teams. Called you…no answer. Alex…" and she gave a harsh wheezing cough.

Gung Ho sprang into action. "Don't try to talk. We got it. You and Flint found the kids by the lake in your search area. Just nod." She nodded.

"All right. Phase two. We get to Flint's location with all possible speed, then break into two groups, extraction and recovery, like we planned. Snake Eyes, Scarlett, White Queen. Head back to the hut, grab our gear. Move fast." He pointed a stern finger at Cam. "Polaris. You stay. We'll grab extra weaponry for you. You need to recover because you have to show us where they are and get us back to Flint." When it looked as if she were going to protest, he snapped, "Plant your feet. That's an order, soldier!"

The villagers had gathered by then, sensing something going on. Gung Ho raised his voice and addressed them. "Our recon teams have located the children captured from your village. We're going to go out and bring them back. I don't know if there are or will be injuries, so any healers you have, please get them ready." He repeated it in French for the benefit of everyone who might not understand English; although some of the villagers didn't understand English, most of them did have at least rudimentary knowledge of French, and although it might have been mangled by his Cajun accent, it had been adequate so far to help with weapons instruction.

By the time White Queen, Scarlett, and Snake Eyes got back with practically every item of heavy armament they had, Cam had recovered enough to talk. "They're in a dog pen in the middle of the village. Looks like there were about ten, maybe twelve children; it was hard to count because they were all heaped together but one girl got up to go bathroom and she had braces on her legs."

"Shandi!" Alex's eyes flew open wide. "Cam…Shandi. You're sure she had braces on her legs? You're sure?"

"They were makeshift—like someone made them with nylon straps and aluminum sticks."

"Gung Ho made them when we were last here. Ripped trim from the van Alex was driving and cannibalized his duffel bag straps to make them." Shana nodded. "That's Shandi. All right, we found them and we know they're definitely the ones we're looking for. Now we have to figure out how to get them out."

"Flint said stick with the plan." Cam had recovered her breath and was grimly shouldering a pair of MK's and her twin blade swords. "Come on. Let's get back to him. The other recon teams should have joined him by now."

"When did you leave him? How long did it take you to get back to us?" They were already in the move, ducking around the village tollgates and heading into the rainy forest, grimly ignoring the pouring rain that cut visibility down to mere feet in front of them.

"I think it was about ten hundred when I left him; it's about eleven fifteen now." Cam moved in a straight, purposeful line; they, knowing that her MOS was navigation, followed her, trusting that she would get them to where they needed to go.

They needed all their breath for the trek; Cam took them in a more or less straight line, stopping a few times to check cuts on trees to make sure they were heading in the right direction. Although they were all in shape, Scarlett was sure that Cam hadn't fully recovered, and after Cam started to wheeze a little—again—Scarlett called a halt. "Cam. Stop. Yes, we want to get to Flint as soon as possible. But Alex isn't military and she doesn't have the kind of endurance the rest of us do, so rein it in and stay even with the rest of us. We are not going to do Flint and the others any good if we can't move the minute we get to them." Cam obediently slowed.

It took them almost two hours to get back to Flint; by the time they got there the gray sky was definitely a few shades darker than it had been when Cam had first stumbled into the village. Shana, looking at her watch and discovering it was just before two hundred, did a quick calculation; the recon teams had been leaving around oh-seven-hundred in the morning, so it had taken Cam and Flint about three hours to get to the lake and find the children. She'd reached them at eleven fifteen, they set out at eleven thirty, and it was now two hundred, Cam had done the two and a half hour trek they'd just taken in under an hour and a half.

Flint and the rest of the recon teams had withdrawn little; screened by the hill, they'd put together a rough shelter, more of a sort of lean to, camouflaged by leaves and roofed by large flat fronds that did a tolerable job of keeping rain off the map spread on the ground before them. He hailed Gung Ho, White Queen, Scarlett, Snake Eyes, and Polaris with a curt nod, and waited until they had hunkered down under the roof of the improvised lean-to before he spoke. "All right. Been talking this over with the recon teams since they joined me, so here's what we decided. We stick with the plan. We split into two teams, extraction and cover teams. White Queen, you have to lead the extraction team; the children will follow you, listen to you. Gung Ho, you're on extraction with White Queen. Polaris, you and Spirit are with them too, you're not as good with heavy weaponry and depending on when we can get the kids out, you two will be needed to lead us through a dark jungle. Can you do that?" She didn't even bother protesting; she just nodded.

"Right. Now. Recoil, Brawler, Scarlett, Snake Eyes, and Recondo are with me on cover. We lay down cover fire if there is pursuit and keep them engaged until the extraction team, with the children, are safe. We flank and back them. And people," they all looked up at the sharp note in his voice. "Remember that deadly force is authorized on this mission, but I also want you to remember that the monster out there is the same person who we ran into earlier this summer and he has been indicted and convicted of war crimes. We'll be doing these people a favor if we kill him, but we'll be doing an even bigger service if we bring him in alive. We want to get the kids out, that's the first priority, but if an opportunity arises I want this son of a bitch alive to haul back to the ICC in chains."

They all nodded.

A sudden commotion from the other side if the hill, from the camp, caught their attention and they cautiously scrambled up the hill and peeked over it. "Zimurinda," Alex breathed in tones of half-fear, half loathing.

They watched in horror and anger as he strode out to the pen, unlocked the door with a key in his pocket, reached down and grabbed the hair of the little girl. Flint, watching, had to exert every ounce of his self-control- Zimurinda had grabbed Alex's hair, dragged her off into a hut to rape her; thinking about that happening to a little girl…

Apparently Shandi had the same idea; she ripped herself out of Zimurinda's grasp and tried, clumsily, to run. Zimurinda was so surprised at this show of spirit from someone who was apparently helpless that it took him a few minutes to gather himself and run after her.

Those few seconds was all the Joes needed.

By sheer luck Shandi had chosen to run in the direction the Joes were hiding; not straight at the hill, but an oblique angle heading to the right of it. Alex was already in motion, scrambling down the hill and intercepting her. Shandi almost screamed as she saw a tall adult figure suddenly appear out of the curtain of rain in front of her, but a moment later she saw the pale skin and blond hair and threw herself at Alex, clinging to the woman desperately, crying. Alex hugged her, holding her tight, crying too, both of them so relieved to see each other that for the moment the rest of the world faded into insignificance.

Until a gun barrel poked into Shandi's shoulder.

Zimurinda's face was twisted in fury as he poked the little girl with his gun. "So you did survive. I heard rumors but I didn't know for sure. This will be so much sweeter."

"Drop it," came an icy voice from behind him, and he turned. Flint stood behind him, holding the muzzle of a machine gun aimed at him, and his finger never wavered on the trigger.

"You!" the rogue's face twisted in a snarl of hatred. "I should have killed you when I had the chance!"

"Yes, well, it is what it is. You didn't, and now we have you. Drop the gun and you might walk out of here alive." Zimurinda hesitated, and Flint added, "I have no compunctions about killing you. Not after what you did to Alex, to me, and what I know you were planning on doing to that little girl."

Zimurinda's finger twitched.

Alex exploded into action, shoving Shandi behind her with one hand as she grabbed the muzzle of the gun with her other n and gave it a hard, sudden jerk. Flint knew that move, had seen Shana teach the recruits that same move many, many times; he wasn't entirely sure that he would have done it in this particular case, with Shandi this close and Zimurinda twitching, but there was no denying the result; the rogue was disarmed, and Flint lowered the gun as Gung Ho came up behind Zimurinda and closed a set of plastic zip ties on the wrists he crossed behind the man's back. Almost simultaneously Shana tied a length of cloth over his mouth so he couldn't shout for help, although the steady sheets of rain around them made it almost impossible for sound to travel far; she didn't want to take the risk.

It was almost anti-climactic, after hating this man for most of the summer, hearing this man's laughter in his worst nightmares, that Flint was almost disappointed. He'd expected Zimurinda to put up more of a fight, somehow; to be harder, tougher to catch. And he wasn't. Behind the guns and tough-man façade, in spite of the army he commanded, he was no more than a man, just like Flint, just like the Joes. Except none of them would have ever beaten a helpless unarmed woman, none of them would have raped a civilian just trying to do her job.

Alex was hugging Shandi tightly; the little girl was clinging to her, frantically. "Shandi. I have to go get your brother and your friends out, okay? Here. This is Cam, she's my friend, and I want you to stay with her until I come back, okay?"

"You will come back?" a whispered question with all of a little girl's heartbreak in it; Flint gritted his teeth. Yes, she's coming back. I promise it.

"Yes, I'm coming back." She saw the look on the little girl's face, and bent to hug her again. "I promise, Shandi, I'll come back."

Flint issued terse orders. "All right. White Queen in the middle, Snake Eyes, Recondo, Brawler, Recoil, Spirit, me, and Gung Ho flanking. We move fast, we move silent. I've been watching them and I think this was right around the time the guards changed, so we have a chance right now to sneak the children out without any of them the wiser. Scarlett, Polaris, you're here with the prisoner and Shandi. If it looks hopeless, I want you to go. Run." Scarlett opened her mouth to protest but he silenced her with a look. "Don't argue."

The rain was so heavy now that the group of eight Joes were lost to view of the two women almost as soon as they took a few steps, but neither woman complained; they were both in full battle mode, and they would stay there until the operation was finished. Zimurinda was mouthing some kind of incoherent protest behind his gag, but neither one of them paid much attention. It was only when he tried to lash out sideways with a foot that Scarlett even deigned to look at him, and even then it was a perfunctory, retaliatory kick with her own foot that drew a muffled cry from Zimurinda himself. "Not hard enough to break," Scarlett said expressionlessly to Polaris. "Don't want to end up carrying the bastard all the way back to Keshero. I swear, though, if I didn't want to see him punished for what he did to Alex and Flint so badly, I'd put a bullet in his head myself."

They moved as silently as they could; not that anyone would have noticed some footfalls, with the rain coming down as fast and as hard as it currently was, sound wasn't really a huge concern.

They kept an eye on the little dog pen in front of them but also kept an eye on their surroundings. While it looked like it was the middle of a guard change, they obviously had no idea that they were being watched, observed, and it was equally obvious to the Joes that the guards were not really in a hurry to run out into the rain to guard a handful of huddled, terrified children. They got to the pen without incident, and Flint's heart rose as he saw one of the children, a little boy, look up at the sound of White Queen's half-whispered French, "Sssh, quiet, we're friends and we're going to get you out of here."

It was a matter of a couple of seconds for Snake Eyes to pick the lock; a simple keyed padlock, heavily rusted, but the tumblers clicked into place under Snake Eyes' hands, and the gate to that pen swinging open was the most beautiful sight to Flint in the world, the open gate and the suddenly energized, formerly apathetic children slipping out. Although Alex whispered "Shh," to them, they seemed to understand the need for silence and stealth without the whispered admonishment. One by one they edged out of the pen until they stood in a silent line before the Joes, looking expectantly up at…Flint.

"They knew you were captured with me. Knowing that you got me out, they now trust you to get them out." It was a sobering thought for Flint as he looked at the line of ragged children, some thin to the point of emaciation, many showing signs of abuse on their thin bodies; a little girl's dress ripped here, bruises there, one young boy's eye almost swollen shut. A hard knot of anger settled in the bottom of his chest, in his throat; how could anyone, no matter how heartless and cruel, treat innocent children like this?

"All right," he said, and motioned to Spirit, who squinted through the rain, got his bearings, and led them back in the direction they'd come, back to where they had left Scarlett and Polaris, Shandi and Zimurinda.

It seemed like an eternity before he saw the dim, gray shapes of trees through the hard curtain of rain, and he blew out a breath in relief. Once we get in those trees, we're safe. Even if they follow us we'll be able to lose them in the forest. Almost there…

And all hell broke loose.

One of the guards, a little more conscientious than the others, had come out to check on their captives, and saw the dim shape of Gung Ho's back through the rain. His shout brought the other guards out of the concrete guard hut even as he launched himself at the Joes.

"Run!" The children wasted no time looking back; terror lent wings to their feet as they scrambled across the last few feet of mud between them and where Shandi waited even as gunfire erupted behind them.

Flint and Gung Ho aimed behind them, strafing the dark gray shapes running after them with gunfire. Some dropped; not all. "Phase Two!" he yelled, and they all knew what that meant.

White Queen headed up the huddle of children, accompanied by Polaris; Gung Ho dropped to a flanking position behind her and slightly off to her right, followed moments later by Spirit. Polaris assumed a position just in front of White Queen and started to lead them through the jungle. Flint, dropping back with the rest of the cover team, just followed blindly; they were going to have to trust that Polaris knew where she was going and would get them back safely.


	15. Chapter 15: Accident

**Chapter 15: Accident**

The driving, pouring rain seemed to be hindering pursuit somewhat, but Flint also figured it was a result of the fact that they had no leadership; faintly, over the sounds of the rain, he could hear confused shouts behind them, and he thought he caught the name Zimurinda. Cry for him all you want, we have him and we're not giving him up! Right now Gung Ho had his arm in a grip of steel, and Flint had already determined that if it became impossible to take the rogue leader with them, he'd put a bullet in the man's head himself. Zimurinda was either going with them alive or he would stay there dead. There were no other choices for him.

But now they seemed to have gotten organized, and a moment later he had to duck as a bullet whizzed past his ear. It was raining too hard to get a good, aimed shot at any one specific person, so this one must have just gotten lucky; it was, however, luck that the Joes couldn't afford for the rogues to have.

"Return fire!" he shouted, unslinging his gun, and the rest of the six on his cover team swung their guns into position, at the same time falling back and swinging out into a fan formation so that each Joe would have a clear shot at their pursuers without having to risk hitting one of their own. Up in front, Cam increased the pace, and Flint saw White Queen drop to her knees for a moment and take Shandi on her back in a piggyback position; good, they wouldn't have to worry about her not being able to keep up. The rest of the children seemed able to keep up the pace even in their bruised, starved condition; either that or they were so terrified of being captured again that they would die running. For once the rough life here seemed to be a good thing; Flint couldn't imagine American children having the same fortitude that these children had. He knew they had to be terrified, but no one was wasting time or energy crying; they were focused on running silently and keeping pace with Cam, Alex, and the Joes. Flint spared one brief minute to worry about Cam's breathing; she had to have pushed herself hard, to get back to Keshero and return with Base Team in the amount of time she'd been gone, and now she was pushing herself again, but there was no help for it. They had to get to safety.

And then suddenly gunfire erupted just off to their right, and he heard Cam's shout.

Their group didn't stop moving, which told him no one was hut; it hadn't sounded like a hurt scream, it was a warning yell, which the guys were sensitive to since they'd worked with The Girls for so long. It was too hard to hear her words, from where he, Scarlett, and Snake Eyes were taking up the rear, but he got the gist of it when the entire group of children swung to the left. Snake Eyes, being closest to the left, flashed a couple of hand signs at Shana, who translated for their benefit. "Guard patrol coming in on the right. Cam's swinging left to avoid walking into that ambush. The river is on the left and we're going to try crossing it and losing them. It narrows a little bit up ahead and she said there's some kind of footbridge that spans it."

Flint nodded; they'd crossed that little footbridge the day before. He remembered it as a narrow rope and wood walkway suspended between two high cliffs on either side of the river, and Cam was right; they could lose their pursuers there. They could get across and then cut the ropes that tethered it; the rogues would be unable to follow and they would be home free. _Good thinking._

The next ten or fifteen minutes were a confused flurry of running, shooting back at their pursuers, and then running again. The thick jungle underbrush made it hard for their pursuers to get a good shot, and they managed to make it to the bridge with no one getting hurt. It was exactly where Cam had remembered it, and it would take them all across; the ropes were sturdy enough for small groups at a time, though it would no doubt break if too many of them stood on it at the same time; the planks were spaced a bit far apart. During the dry season this would have been an idyllic place; a quiet rope bridge spanning a burbling wide river. However, with it now being the height of the rainy season, the creek was definitely swollen to a torrential river and the view, between the planks of the bridge, made your heart skip a beat.

It apparently scared the children, too; as afraid as they were of the people behind them, they were unnerved by the swollen river. Added to that, Flint knew they were exhausted; he was surprised they'd even been able to run on this long.

But they didn't have time; they were only going to be able to hold their pursuers off for so long. Cam dropped to her knees in the dirt, and one of the children climbed aboard piggy-back; she ran across the bridge with apparent ease, dropped the first child off at the other end, then went back for another. This time, three of the children dared to follow her, edging out carefully at first, then gaining confidence as they got further across.

It was all still going to take time. As she reached their end of the bridge, Flint called to her. "Cam! I'm out!" Without skipping a beat, she unslung her gun from over her shoulder and tossed it to him, as he tossed his empty one to her. She caught it neatly and started across with another load of children as Ettienne hustled Zimurinda across.

He turned his attention back to their pursuers, grimly firing more rounds whenever he saw the dim shape of one around the trunk of a tree. A scream told him he'd finally hit one; even as that shape was falling, he saw another one go down under Shana's fire.

A sudden shout from the other side of the bridge caught his attention, and he turned—and saw with relief and surprise that the children were hurrying carefully across the bridge; dimly, on the other side of it, he saw Keshero's village headman standing there with a couple of the women, and they were urging the children, telling them it was safe to come across, and to hurry. As the last of the children stepped onto the bridge, he signaled Ettienne and Charlie to follow, then Brawler, Recondo, and Recoil followed. He was about to wave Shana and Snake Eyes onto the bridge in front of him when the hammer on his gun fell on an empty chamber—this gun, too, was now out of rounds.

"Go!" Shana yelled to him, holding her gun up. "I got a few left, Snake Eyes does too. Go and we'll cover you, then we'll follow!" He wasted no time following her instructions and setting foot on the rickety bridge.

Shana turned her attention to their pursuers. It was raining even harder now, if possible, and they appeared to be having problems aiming through the sheets of rain that was now coming down. _If I had a bar of soap right now I could take a bath,_ she thought vaguely to herself, but the focus of her attention was currently on firing at the gray shapes in the rain and she didn't have time to think. She checked back behind her quickly, saw Hawk more than halfway across, nodded to Snake Eyes, and together the two of them edged onto the bridge, just wide enough for two people abreast.

She was counting her bullets carefully and knew when she was out, but they were now just a bit past halfway across and she thought they'd make it.

Until Snake Eyes' gun ran out too.

They both turned to run for the opposite side of the bridge, but their pursuers figured out that they were out of ammo and rushed toward the bridge. Shana saw how fast they were running, knew there wasn't time to get to the other side; although their pursuers also seemed to be out of ammo, they were carrying spears and their guns had knives rigged to the front of them, a sort of makeshift bayonet.

She looked at Snake Eyes, saw that he'd come to the same conclusion she had. He drew the two butterfly swords slung in sheaths across his back, tossed her one as he took the other, then reached out to the side and grasped one of the bridge ropes just behind where he was going to cut.

The ropes holding the top of the bridge parted at the same time.

It swung crazily over the river; at the other end of the bridge, their pursuers shouted in fear and started trying to run for the bank they'd just departed, but the ones in front were hampered by the ones in back, who hadn't seen Shana and Snake Eyes hack at the bridge ropes and didn't know what was going on; a couple of the braver ones lunged forward, feet slipping on sodden wooden planks, intending to try and reach Scarlett and Snake Eyes before the two of them managed to sever the ropes holding the rest of the bridge together. Three men fell off the side of the bridge when the rope they were holding gave, and they disappeared with screams into the water below.

Shana forced herself not to think about that as she raised her sword and hacked at the ropes holding the wooden planked bottom of the bridge together. Her attention was caught, momentarily, by a familiar high-pitched whizz past her ear, and she saw, with disbelief, one of the rogues in front of the pack fall off the bridge with a gurgle as an arrow sprouted out of his neck along with a fountain of blood. The villagers had come to the opposite bank with the bows and arrows the Joes had constructed for them and were shooting at the rogues! Out of ammo, the rogues were helpless and two more got picked off. Filled with elation and new hope, Scarlett raised her sword and sliced at the ropes again.

The rain-sodden rope resisted for a long moment, and she had to hack at it twice more, but she saw the last rope start fraying around the last cut, and she grabbed the rope under her hands and held tight. The rope finally snapped, and suddenly there was nothing but terrifying zero-gravity as the end of the bridge she and Snake Eyes clung to swung through the air until it finally smacked against the opposite cliff with a solid thump that almost knocked her grip loose. She dropped Snake Eyes' sword as her hand scrabbled for purchase on the rain-sodden rope, as her feet tried to find footing on the now-horizontal edges of the wooden bridge planks. She would have cursed, but she didn't have time or focus; the rope was very hard to hold onto, and she was sliding down it.

A hand caught her wrist, stopping her descent, and she looked up into Snake Eyes' face, saw the iron-willed determination there that he wasn't going to let her go, that she wouldn't fall. She tried to hold on, gained a brief moment of respite as her foot found the gap between two of the wooden bridge planks, and let go of Snake Eyes' hand as she grabbed for the next wooden plank and started to climb, ladder-like. She swore she saw him grin behind his balaclava, and he started to climb too. Above him, the villagers were shooting arrows at the rogues on the opposite bank, preventing them from firing what little ammo they might have had left at Scarlett and Snake Eyes, keeping them busy defending themselves and ducking from the arrows.

She grabbed for the next wooden plank, gripped it, started to pull herself up—and the wood snapped under her hand. The sudden shift of her weight onto the rung she was on snapped that too, and the next moment she was falling, falling into the roiling water below, and she screamed in terror as she plunged into the water and it closed over her head.

_**SHANA!**_ If Snake Eyes could have screamed, he would have, not that it would have mattered. He didn't even pause to think; he let go of the rungs he was on, doing a semi-controlled plummet into the water about where Shana had gone in, and forced his eyes open once he was under. The water was swirling swiftly by; by the time he broke surface, he was already several yards downstream of the Joes and the broken wooden bridge. He dismissed it; they would be okay, he had to find Shana.

He caught sight of her just a few yards downstream; he wished desperately that he could shout, let her know he was there and have her try to swim up to him, to reach him, but he couldn't, and he cursed his lack of voice. The next moment he saw her head turn, and across the river, their gazes locked; she saw him and started trying to swim upstream, toward him.

They met in the middle of the river; his hands flailed out blindly, snagged something that felt like cobwebs, and knew from the color and texture that it was her hair. He grabbed onto it desperately, then reached forward with his other hand, found an arm. _Got you!_ He didn't have to say it; she turned her head to look at him, and he swore, for one moment, he saw her smile. Then a look of horror crossed her face, and a second later a huge impact slammed into his back, ripping Shana's hand out of his. By the time he got his head back above water, she was far downstream, clinging to the huge fallen log that had slammed into him. _Hang on,_ he told her mentally, grimly, feeling that she would somehow be able to hear him_. Hang on, and I'll find you!_

There was a lot of debris in the water, and he was pummeled mercilessly by the detritus; finally he managed to snag another floating log and hung on, grimly, as the current carried him downstream., There was no point in trying to swim in this mess; he'd just ride the debris until the raging rapids hit a quiet pool, then try to find her.

It was so, so hard to hang on; the water kept slipping insidious fingers between his grip and the wood he held, trying to tear him away, suck him under, and drown him; he clung tenaciously, leaning into the log and trying to protect his face while at the same time scanning the visible portion of water around him, trying to locate the woman who was the other half of his heart and soul, willing himself to hold on even though exhaustion and fatigue were overwhelming. _Have to find Shana. Have to stay awake. Have to find her._

It felt like almost an eternity later when suddenly his log ran aground on a rocky, gravelly bank that even he could feel under his feet; as he raised his head to look around, he realized that the river was so shallow here that a lot of the flotsam and debris that had swept downriver in the flash-flood had ended up here in this shallow, narrow valley, forming a kind of natural dam. He desperately scanned the debris around him, hoping against hope that the log Shana had clung to had ended up here.

He was looking for her, her fatigues, anything. A wisp of her hair, however waterlogged, would still show up as a deep auburn splash against the dark brown-black-gray of the water, the trees, the debris, and everything else. As he did so he climbed on the log, out of the water, then sat down on top of it for a second, fighting fatigue and cold and dread. He _would _find her.

A sudden movement on the other side of the river caught his eye, and he saw with disbelief that two of the pursuing rogues had made it to this shallow logjam; they were climbing out of the water on the other side. They turned, reached down into the water—and a moment later a third surfaced—and _he had Shana!_

She was limp, unmoving, her face blue, and there was a thin line of blood running from a gash on her forehead down one cheek; the third man towed her out of the water with an arm around her neck, dragging her up on the bank with him. One of the men already standing on the bank knelt, started to perform CPR as Snake Eyes forced himself to his feet, started trying to climb over the debris to get to her, and the three men, on the opposite bank.

One of them spotted him, raised his gun. Snake Eyes ducked to avoid the bullet, lost his footing on the waterlogged mossy trunk he stood on, and fell in the water. He struggled out, just in time to see Shana stir, roll weakly onto her side, and choke up what looked like a gallon of river water. She was barely conscious, she was plainly injured and disoriented, but she was _alive!_ He wanted to scream to her, to let her know he was there, but of course he couldn't, and he 'screamed' mentally in frustration.

And incredibly, she heard him.

Across the intervening water, she saw him. Green eyes locked with blue, electricity sizzling the air between them. Her mouth moved, a syllable that might have been his name, but her eyes were glazed and unfocused and she could barely coordinate her movement. A couple more bullets whizzed toward him, and when he stopped ducking and looked up again, the roar of a gasoline engine split the quiet and he saw a battered jeep-type vehicle pull up next to the group on the riverbank. Shana screamed weakly, then, tried to fight, but one of the rogues clubbed her brutally in the back of her head with the butt of his gun, and she went down, went still, didn't move again as they threw her in the back of the vehicle. Snake Eyes cursed every god he knew in every language he knew, silently, as the jeep sped away with Shana unconscious in the back. _Hang on. Just hang on. You're a survivor, like me, I know you're alive, and I will find you. I will __**never**__ stop looking until I find you…hold on for me!_

But he couldn't do it alone. He was on the right side of the river; he'd backtrack to where the bridge was, get back to Keshero. Once there the Joes would get together and mount a rescue operation for her; he scanned the surrounding banks, fixing landmarks firmly in his memory, then started the long trek back upstream to the road that would lead back to Keshero, and the rest of the team.


	16. Chapter 16: Strategy

**Chapter 16: Strategy**

"SHANA!"

Cam moved too quickly for Charlie to catch her as she stripped away the gun on her shoulder and started to race for the edge of the cliff, but fortunately Flint saw her movement, heard her scream, and caught her before she dove over the edge. "Cam!"

She fought him, and not all the moisture on her face was from the rain. "Let me go—I have to get to her—I have to find her—we have to go after her!"

Flint's heart was breaking as he felt her desperation, the tension in her body and muscles evident in the way she was fighting him with everything in her. "Cam, stop it!" he ordered harshly, although his own eyes were burning with unshed tears. He locked down on his own emotions; he was a leader, and as much as he wanted to go after two people who were not only integral members of the team but also very close personal friends, now was not the time. Because he was a leader, he had to think about what was best for everyone, and right now that was getting everyone back to Keshero. The children were exhausted and almost dropping on their feet, Alex was carrying Shandi because the little girl simply couldn't walk or run anymore, and Spirit was carrying one of the other children piggyback. Alex's face was white in the gathering darkness, and he knew she was crying too; Flint could see guilt written all over her face.

"Cam. It's getting dark, it's still pouring rain, and we have children who are cold and hungry and possibly injured. Added to that, we are out of ammo. We have to get back to the village, drop off the kids, resupply. Maybe by that time both of them will have come back on their own, did you think of that?" she stopped fighting him, as if the idea hadn't even occurred to her. "Good. You are the best we have at navigation, Polaris, and at this moment I can't even tell which way the village is. You have to get us back because none of the rest of us is as good at this as you."

"The villagers are here, they know the way back," Cam muttered under her breath, but she stopped fighting him. He let her go slowly, hoping she wouldn't just ignore him and take a header over the cliff after Scarlett and Snake Eyes, but fortunately she returned to the head of the line, picked up her gun, and they started to walk.

Flint kept an eye on Alex as he walked; Ettienne was beside her, but they weren't talking; Shandi was whispering to Alex but getting no response either. Flint knew exactly how she must be feeling; he'd seen guilt and remorse on the blond Private's face. They were out here because of her, because she felt responsible for these children. Because _she_ needed to come here to the DRC again, and the close bonds they'd formed with her had meant that they just couldn't let her come alone, and now that was going to cost them.

Guilt settled over his shoulders too. He was their leader; he should have insisted Shana and Snake Eyes go first, then followed, and once they were over the bridge he should have told them to cut the ropes. The villagers had been backing them up with the bows and arrows that Cam had taught them how to make and that Shana had taught them how to use; they could have held the rogues off for just long enough to get all of them on the same side of the bridge, then cut it. It would have been Zimurinda's rogues in that water instead of two of their own.

Zimurinda. Flint's eyes went hard as he stared at the back of the man's head. If any guilt, any blame, was to be laid at anyone's feet, it was this man. Capturing Flint and Alex the last time they were here, torturing Alex almost to death, torturing Flint, and whatever he'd been planning on doing with these children—Flint was glad they'd brought the man back alive; he had to answer for what he'd done. Not only to the Joes, but to Alex, to the children, to all of his own people he had hurt.

It was a somber group that walked into the village just after dusk fell. Without a word the villagers relieved Alex of Shandi, sensing correctly that the Americans wanted to be alone; the children went with one of the village women off to a large hut nearby.

The headman stopped in the act of walking away, then turned back. "If you need a safe place to put him we do have a jail. We realize your people are tired and that you need to rest; we would be glad to guard him while you sleep."

Flint found enough strength left to smile at the man. "Thank you. I may take you up on that offer to help guard him after I talk to my people. In the meantime, however, yes, we would like to house him in your jail, so if you could show me where it is…"

"This way."

The jail proved to be the one thing in the village that Flint would have considered a permanent structure. A concrete-walled-and-floored building, with a ceiling made of wooden beams and planks reinforced with metal bars that were solidly grounded in the floor. "There are metal bars in the walls as well; when the UN built this for us it was supposed to be a bunker, a safe haven for us to take shelter in if the village were attacked. However, we don't like it and have never used it for such; it could too easily become a trap from which there is no escape if someone were to set fire to the roof." Flint tested the door; it was solidly built, with a lock on the outside of the door, and he blew out his breath in relief.

"Thank you. Yes, this will be adequate for holding him." He stepped outside the door, waved to Recoil and Gung Ho; the two men shoved Zimurinda forward into the concrete hut.

It was a matter of a few moments to take the temporary restraint off Zimurinda's arms, wrap his arms behind the central metal pole of the hut, set solidly into the concrete of the floor, and then cuff him again; Flint didn't try to be particularly gentle, nor did he try to make sure the man was comfortable. Time later to do that; right now, he needed to check on his people. He'd made it clear to Cam that she wasn't to go after Scarlett alone, but he also didn't trust that she wouldn't at least think about it, much less try. Although he was pretty sure the rest of his team wouldn't let her go; he'd been pretty firm on that.

"I'll take first watch," Recoil said, leaning up against the wall by the door. Flint started to ask if Recoil was too tired, then bit his tongue; they were all professionals, and Recoil wouldn't have offered if he wasn't sure he could perform the task; so Flint just nodded. "I'll send someone to relieve you in two hours," he said, and Recoil just nodded. Gung Ho and Flint hurried toward their hut.

Alex was sitting on her bedroll, face buried in arms crossed over her folded knees, sobbing; Ettienne went to her quickly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned against him, buried her face in his chest, and cried. Dash's heart ached at her broken, sobbed words. "She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me…all of you…I'm sorry, oh God, I'm so sorry…"

But Flint's attention was then caught by Polaris. She was sitting cross-legged on Spirit's bedroll, her arms folded, looking rebellious and angry, and Spirit was sitting in an identical position in front of her, also looking angry. The other Joes were studiously trying very hard not to look at the couple, instead getting busy wiping water off their weapons, checking to make sure they were clean and still working, and no few of them were reloading clips and checking ammo supplies. "Spirit."

"Sir." Spirit stood and snapped to attention, though carefully leaving one eye on his rebellious wife sitting on his bedroll.

"What's going on?"

"Polaris insists on going right back out to the river to see if Scarlett and Snake Eyes made it out okay. I insist that she stay, since it is now dark and tracking out in the jungle is inadvisable, even under optimal conditions, in the dark; and with this pouring rain, virtually impossible." He didn't use Cam's name; codename only, which meant he wasn't objecting as her husband, he was objecting as her fellow soldier.

Flint turned his attention to Cam. "Polaris." She stood and snapped to attention. "You are going to lie down and get some sleep. We are all going to lie down and get some sleep. It is pouring out there, it is dark, and you will do us no good wandering around out there and breaking an ankle or twisting it if otherwise doing something foolish." She started to open her mouth, and he held up a hand. "Stop. I am as worried about them as you are; they are our friends too, Cam." He knew his worry was showing in his eyes, but he couldn't help it; he was worried. He didn't let it show in his voice though. "Snake Eyes and Scarlett are both elite US soldiers, equipped with the best training the American military can give to its people. They know how to survive in a survival situation; their training covered that. Right now we are exhausted, battered, wet and cold and hungry and tired; there is no way that we can go out there after them right now. We have to trust them to take care of themselves, as we need to care for ourselves.

"That being said, we are not going to leave them out there. I want everyone to get some rest. The village headman offered the use of their jail to store Zimurinda; I have taken advantage of that offer, but while he also offered to have some of the villagers take turns guarding Zimurinda, that I am not willing to do because I have no idea if one of them might decide to try a little…homegrown justice… on the man. I'm not going to pull any punches on this; we captured him alive and he will stay alive for us to get him back to the ICC. He will stand trial for what he did to those children, what he did to his own people, what he's done to his land and his country, what he did to me, and what he did to Alex. I want that clearly understood. We will take turns guarding him, from everyone, including the villagers. There will be no opportunities for him to run or to otherwise escape justice by provoking deadly action from either us or the villagers."

Nods all around; they understood. "Recoil is out there now, guarding the hut. I think one soldier out there is sufficient, but I also don't want to take a chance that the villagers will try to get to him to kill him; he has wronged them terribly. So I want one more volunteer; I realize we're all tired, and I want the one who volunteers to be absolutely sure you can do a two hour guard stint there. We'll rotate every two hours tonight so everyone can get some rest, and everyone will take a turn except," he pointed to Cam and Alex, "You two. I need both of you to get some sleep. Tomorrow, White Queen, I need you to talk to these people, explain to them that we want to take Zimurinda to the ICC to try for war crimes and crimes against his people; they know you, they are familiar with you, and I don't want them to think this is a US military decision. We've been taking a heavy-handed approach to things in the African and Middle East regions of the world lately and there is some ill-will, I won't even try to deny it, partly due to our tactics and policies and partly due to some egregious misbehavior on the part of some of our members. We cannot forget that we represent our country, and when we misbehave it reflects badly on not only us, but our military, our government, and our people as well. What we do here is going to affect what these people think of our country, our military, and our people; let's not leave a bad taste in their mouths. Am I understood?" Nods all around.

"I'll go stand watch with Recoil," Recondo raised a hand as he chambered a magazine into his gun and stood.

Brawler raised a hand, Spirit raised his in the next second. "Second watch," Brawler said, and Spirit nodded.

"Gung Ho and I will take third watch. Watches will be two hours each for tonight, to give everyone a chance to sleep. But be on your guard; while I don't think it likely, there is a possibility the villagers could try to disarm us in our sleep to remove our resistance if they try homegrown justice and I do not want to see that happen. At first light tomorrow, we'll put together a search party and head back to the river, scout downstream to see if we can pick up any trace of Scarlett and Snake Eyes. Yes, Polaris, you're going to be part of that team so you do need to be rested, which is why neither you nor White Queen are going to stand guard duty. Got me?" She nodded, shoulders slumping, and he saw the weariness settle in on her face as the adrenaline from their headlong flight from the rogues abruptly began to wear off. Spirit must have recognized it, because he stepped forward, took her arm, guided her to the women's sleeping area. White Queen headed for the area too, and moments later Spirit came out. "Alex will keep an eye on Cam and make sure she doesn't run off while we sleep."

"Good. Now, everybody turn in, we'll need to be up at first light."

Gung Ho and Flint were just getting ready to pack it in and go wake Recoil and Recondo for their watch, the last one of the night; Flint had already decided to send Spirit, Polaris, and Brawler out for the morning search, so Recoil and Recondo, he and Gung Ho could take turns guarding for the day.

Shuffling footsteps were the first thing they heard in the pre-dawn darkness; the rain had finally slackened sometime in the middle of the night, and alert and wary for an attack, they brought their weapons up at the ready until they recognized the darker-than-night figure.

"Snake Eyes!" Gung Ho sprang forward; the big Cajun could move incredibly fast when he wanted to. Flint followed, heart pounding in his chest; yes, it was Snake Eyes, but there was no Scarlett with him. _Dear God, no,_ he prayed as they ran up to the ninja.

One quick look and Flint knew Snake Eyes wasn't in any condition to give a report. He looked terrible; clothes waterlogged and dripping, the sword sheaths behind his back empty of his customary butterfly swords, every line of his body speaking of utter exhaustion. His eyes, however, when Flint looked into them, held only fatigue, a terrible, bone-deep exhaustion that Flint had rarely ever seen him in before. He must have been tracking back to them all night. "Questions later. Gung Ho, get him back to the hut, then send Recoil and Recondo out here. Tell them we'll brief them later, but someone has to keep an eye on that bastard in there." He jerked a thumb at the jail.

Moments after Snake Eyes and Gung Ho walked into the hut, Recondo and Recoil pelted out. As soon as they reached him, Flint was on the move, adrenaline pumping as he sped to the hut. "How is he?" he exclaimed as he burst in.

Snake Eyes was sitting before the fire that Alex had hastily built up in the hearth, and Cam was easing his shirt off. Underneath, Snake Eyes' pale skin was hideously bruised, a rainbow of them decorating his torso.

"He was in the river for a while, got hit by a lot of debris and logs and stuff," Cam said as Snake Eyes took his balaclava off. Underneath he looked worn, exhausted, tired.

"Scarlett? Is she coming? Was she with you?" Slowly Snake Eyes shook his head, his hands coming up to sign.

Shana was apparently teaching Cam quite a bit, because it was Cam who translated. "Saw her in river. Lost her when tree hit us. Washed up downriver."

Snake's hands dropped a moment, and Flint was about to ask more questions when he brought his hands up again. "Saw Shana. Three rogues who went into the river with us at the bridge survived. They pulled her out of the river."

"Was she alive?" Flint grabbed Snake Eyes' arms, looked deeply into them, unwilling to wait for Cam to translate the fatigued sign language. What he read there told him the truth. "She _is_ alive! You saw her!"

Cam translated again. "Saw her. Alive. They pulled her out, did CPR. They saw me and shot at me; I couldn't get to her. She recovered consciousness and threw up a lot of water, but she did see me. She knows I saw her."

"Where? Where is she? Did they take her away?" Flint could see Snake Eyes was at the end of his resources; he was completely exhausted, a state they didn't see him in often; he looked close to passing out.

"The rogues pulled up in a jeep. They knocked her out and loaded her in. I couldn't follow." Snake Eyes' hands dropped into his lap as Cam finished translating. "She's alive but they have her."

Flint came to a quick decision. "All right. We know she's alive. I know we said we'd set off at first light but I want Snake Eyes to get some sleep. Cam, you're the first-aid person around here and Alex, you're familiar with the villagers. Coordinate and see if you can take care of some of those bruises and cuts, check him over and make sure he's good to go. We'll leave as soon as he wakes up from a nap and has time to eat something; Snake Eyes, you're going to have to guide us to the place on the riverbank where you last saw her. We'll track her from there while you come back to the village to rest. As soon as we find her, we'll radio our position and figure out how we're going to get her out."

_I have to be there. I have to find her. I have to—_

"You have to sit your ass down and let us do the work. You're in no shape to go haring off after her, and it's not like she's one of the village children, who will trust only Alex. Let us help, okay, Snake Eyes?" Flint crouched in front of the ninja, forced him to look at the Warrant Officer until Snake Eyes finally, reluctantly, nodded. "Good. That's settled. Get some sleep and let Alex and Cam work on those bruises and cuts. When they say you're ready to head out, we'll head out." Snake Eyes nodded and stretched out on his bedroll, closing his eyes and going instantly to sleep as Cam started analyzing his condition.


	17. Chapter 17: Control

**Chapter 17: Control**

Control.

From the first time she'd stepped on the mat with her father and her older brothers, Shana O'Hara had learned control. Control over her movements, first; gross motor skills, then fine motor skills, the subtle shifts of balance that allowed one to ground oneself on the floor and throw an opponent over her shoulder.

Then she'd started school, and that turned into lessons on a different kind of control. Although it was an annoying cliché that redheads had hot tempers, in Shana's case it was true; she did have a temper, and it tended to get the best of her; especially during recess when the other kids called her 'carrot top' and teased her about her hair, about her tomboyish tendencies. So she'd learned valuable lessons in controlling her temper after several suspensions from school, after several conferences between her teachers and her parents, after listening to her beloved father being argued with by the mother she loved but couldn't understand.

Her mother also taught her control; how to control her temper was among the most valuable of lessons Mrs. O'Hara taught this youngest daughter who bewildered, confused, and exasperated her with her continued, determined resistance to learning to be a 'proper O'Hara lady'. Shana had to control her temper on those occasions when she couldn't come up with an excuse to skip the sewing circle meant to occupy Atlanta's leading 'society' ladies; had to control her temper—and her impatience—while her mother tried to teach her to knit, to sew, to crochet; taught her how to sew little doll clothes that Shana ended up giving her sister Siobhan because she didn't want dolls and rarely ever played with the ones given her.

"That's why I don't like dolls!" a young Shana exclaimed after one of her older brothers tried to get this pesky little sister to leave him alone by putting 'Child's Play' in the video player. The plan backfired; young Shana wasn't scared by the doll-like Chucky; she was openly contemptuous and laughing at the cheesy improbability of the entire movie's premise, which led to her brothers to then start secretly including her in their late-night movie fests when their parents went out and Siobhan had gone to sleep. Shana would wait in her room until she heard Siobhan snoring, then crept downstairs to watch movies with her brothers until she fell asleep. That then led to her developing control over her grouchiness when she had to get up the next morning to go to school; she knew instinctively her mother would put a stop to it if she knew the O'Hara boys adored having their spoiled, petted, indulged baby sister sitting on the couch with them watching Mike Myers, Freddy and Jason hack and slash their way through the teenaged flavor-of-the-week.

It was with her brothers that Shana learned a different sort of control, and one that would stay with her for the rest of her life and influence her life's pattern. Because in addition to developing a taste for watching cheesy slasher flicks with her brothers, Shana also developed a taste for watching action flicks. Die Hard was a perennial favorite among the O'Hara boys and Shana, and young Shana developed her first schoolgirl crush on action hero Bruce Willis through them. Other favorite choices for O'Hara movie night included Bloodsport, Rambo, Rocky; and every Bruce Lee movie ever made found its way to the O'Hara boys' movie library (and so to their little sister's.) Summer vacations were spent constructing bottle rockets and other backyard explosives, then setting them off where Mother O'Hara wouldn't see them; such things belonged in the category of Activities Inappropriate For Young Ladies, whether Shana found them fun or not.

Spirits not damped in the slightest, Shana went on fine tuning her control over explosives, over her explosive temper and her own body, with each year that passed. One thing she could not do; although her control extended into the lengthy, tedious, boring (to her) process of getting a law degree, then taking (and passing) bar exams, that control did not extend into actually starting to practice law. There Shana drew the line, and shocked her mother into apoplectic fits when she announced her decision to go into the military. Even Shana's Dad had reservations about this, but Shana was headstrong and determined to get out from under her parents' control, and to everyone's surprise she flew through basic training and rose in the ranks quickly, even in those difficult times when women were still very much a minority in the military.

Her control, moreover, was so good that they sent her to extra training to develop her classified secondary military operating specialty; training that included stints at Quantico, learning from the best instructors the FBI, CIA, and other military intelligence specialists could offer her. She had an uncanny talent for reading body language, for knowing what someone was going to do before they did it, for knowing what someone was thinking before they spoke, and all of that added up to someone who was naturally inclined to excel in the field of kinesic interrogation—reading someone's body language and knowing if they were being truthful or lying. Had they asked, Shana would have told them it was something she did as naturally as breathing; she'd had to learn to read her mother and her older sister at a very early age, to know when they knew about her transgressions or when they only suspected she'd done something wrong and was simply trying to trick her into confessing something so they would have proof to take to Shana's Dad as further vices attached to his much-beloved, much-indulged baby girl. Shana had quickly learned to read her female relatives as easily as she read a book, using that skill early on to avoid having her beloved father caught between Shana and her mother.

Although it was a natural result of having a nature and temperament so at odds with her mother, Shana still felt guilty whenever she'd overhear yet another argument between her father and her mother, over 'that hoydenish little tomboy you're raising'.

But the control was a natural extension of the expectations placed on her. Shana's father, while proud of her, expected Shana to stay out of trouble even though her natural inclination was to rush into it headfirst, even gleefully at times. Shana's mother expected Shana to behave (at least when out with her mother) as a Proper Young Lady; Shana herself moaned to her father once that 'it looks so easy when Siobhan does it, why is it so hard for me?' but she strove to meet her father's expectations by being a daughter who excelled in studies and in the dojo; strove to meet her mother's expectations in the limited amount of time that she spent with Mrs. O'Hara; strove to meet her sister's expectations on the rare occasions when Siobhan O'Hara invited her little sister out shopping or to a party, which usually ended leaving Shana feeling awkward, coltish and inferior next to her elegant and admittedly very snobbish older sister (Shana sobbed to her father one day that next to Siobhan she felt like the ugly duckling beside a graceful white swan). And her brothers expected her to be a tomboy, expected her to have tomboyish qualities; when she developed a crush on one of Brian's friends she wore a dress to a rocket-building contest in which that friend was a featured builder; her brothers ribbed her mercilessly about it and she never again wore a dress when out with them.

She became a chameleon, quickly adept at figuring out what different people expected from her and then acting accordingly. She was the 'perfect soldier' to her superiors; respectful without being subservient; confident without being arrogant; self-assured without being aggressive. It got her through extensive classified training at Quantico, which she looked at afterward with mingled pride and distaste; pride that she had gotten through it, distaste at some of the things that had been done to her and that she, in turn, had done; closed that chapter of her life in her mind and took herself and all of her skills to a new assignment called G.I. Joe.

And there ran into an enigma named Snake Eyes. For the first time in her life here was someone who expected absolutely nothing from her. When she'd first met him on the mat after extended hand-to-hand bouts with the other Joes, his body language had been completely confusing. With the other guys she could tell what they expected of her; they saw her as eye candy, as a pushover, at first. Then, later, she saw wariness, caution, saw them expecting to find her weaknesses; a test. But Snake Eyes, when he faced her, expected nothing, looked for nothing. There were no clues in his body language that told her what he expected her to be, how he expected her to behave. For the first time in her life Shana O'Hara was faced with someone who didn't want her to be anything, anyone, other than who and what she was. It intrigued her so much that she invited him on a semi-date with her, and got to know him on that first date.

It was intoxicating. It was addictive. That complete acceptance of who she was, what she was, what she could do and how she perceived herself was in itself a mystery; and she gravitated to that, watching, waiting, for some sign that it was a disingenuous trick, that at any moment he would drop the masks and show her what he expected of her. But as time passed, she came to the realization that it wasn't a front, it wasn't a mask; he did not indeed expect anything from her. Then the helicopter crash, the accident; his rage and denial, her guilt and anguish and pain and determination to bring back the man that she was only now admitting to herself that she completely loved. And when they found that the crash had taken his voice and scarred his face, he looked at her with a question in his eyes, the same question that she had asked everyone her whole life; _can you accept me as I am? Even flawed and imperfect, can you accept me as I am?_

And she had never even had to think about the answer. _Yes._ She accepted him the way he was, just as he'd accepted her; no reservations, no guilt, no expectations. Well, almost. He had only ever expected one thing from her, one small thing; it had been a huge lesson for her, in the most unexpected of places, the most unexpected of ways, but she had learned to be a chameleon, and in the end this one small expectation he had of her wasn't that hard after all.

He wanted her to give up control around him; to give up her masks, the faces she'd become an expert at putting on as soon as she figured out what was expected of her. For him, she gave it up—and found a freedom on the other side of that, a freedom that she had never before experienced, not with her beloved father, her brothers, her career, her commanding officers. With him she could truly be who she was, and in that moment somewhere deep inside her she knew that he would be the only man for her, ever, for the rest of her life.

However, she still needed that control for her career, for the life she'd built for herself in the US Army, and she drew on every ounce of that lifetime of control now as she slowly swam to full consciousness and had to bite back the scream of pain that threatened to erupt from her throat as she came fully awake.

_Control. Control._ She repeated it in her head, like a mantra, forcing herself to regulate her breathing so there would be no outward indicator that she was awake; forced herself to bite back her cry of pain as the various parts of her body informed her that she was injured; forced herself to bite back the anger as she discovered her wrists were tied behind her; forced back the panic as she realized she was hooded and lying in the back of some dirty, musty-smelling rusted vehicle on the way to…God-knew-where.

And she drew on that long-ago training she'd received first with the US Army, then at the FBI joint training facilities at Quantico. _Recover quickly. Orient yourself. Figure out what your current limitations are._

So. _Hood. That's not rope, that's plastic zip ties on my wrists._ She tensed her leg muscles infinitesimally, testing to see if anything was binding her ankles. _Yes, ankles too._ Her training whispered to her, in one of her Quantico instructor's voices; _escape at the moment is not possible. Figure out what your current physical status is so you know what movement is possible should you have a chance to escape._

_Head hurts._ Pounding, throbbing headache; she thought it likely from being clubbed in the back of the head. She'd seen the look of panic, of alarm, of horror on Snake Eyes' face a half-second before the impact to the back of her head knocked her out. _Hands hurt_. The ties on her wrists were too tight. _Feet numb_. The ties on her ankles were too tight. _Breathing difficult, but not impossible_. The hood, while dark, seemed to be made of some coarsely-woven dark stuff like burlap; there was air, it just wasn't sufficient for huge gasps of air. _Regulate breathing. _Problem solved.

Other injuries; bruises all over her body, and one ankle was the source for a great deal of her current pain. She cursed herself for her stupidity; it was the same ankle that she'd twisted when she was in the warrior's circle fighting that mock battle with Snake Eyes and Cam. She'd nursed it that evening, was okay the next day, but the precipitous flight through the jungle, over the bridge, into the water had aggravated the minor injury and magnified it into a major one. _I was a damn idiot, had no business showing off. Lesson learned the hard way. Next_. The bruises she discounted; she'd gotten hit by debris in the river, one of which had knocked her out; the rogues had gotten to her before Snake Eyes did, or she would be safe in his arms right now… she forced herself to push the thought away, afraid she would cry if she thought any more about him. She already missed him so much…but at least she knew he was alive, and he knew she was alive, and he would never stop looking for her; she had heard him say that to her just before she was knocked out, as clearly as if he'd shouted it to her: _I will never stop looking for you until I find you; hold on for me! _And she would, because she trusted him with her life, with more than her life; her heart, her soul, everything that was in her.

When she opened her eyes, she discovered her vision of the burlap just inches in front of her face was blurred. _Can't tell if that's because I have grit and sand in my eyes or if it's from blows to the head and the headache._ She'd been knocked out twice; once by debris from the river, once by the rogues_. I don't want to think about a concussion. Let's assume for the moment I just have grit in my eyes._

Cataloging her injuries had taken her a long way to accepting them, and she felt the pain subside, just a little. Not much, but it was enough for her to get it under control so she wouldn't scream. _Stay limp. Let them think I'm still out. Maybe I'll hear something that will give me a clue to where they're taking me. How long have I been out?_

And another, more chilling thought intruded. _Have they…molested me?_ Her training at Quantico had included a highly-classified course in sexual assault resistance training; it was a given that if a female were to be captured by an enemy, rape was practically certain. She had hated every minute of it; she'd known what was going to happen, had been briefed about it multiple times over a week, and when she was dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, hooded, and marched out into a hallway wearing only what she normally slept in and hands wearing rubber gloves started to paw at her through her clothes (thank God she didn't sleep naked) she'd known what it was, had known what was happening. And still she'd struggled not to scream, not to fight, not to panic; those ten minutes had been the most demeaning, humiliating and horrifying experience of her life thus far, even though she knew she had total control, that she'd arranged a safeword with her instructors. If she found herself unable to continue all she had to do was say the safeword 'red' and they would stop, immediately. She'd been able to look back later with pride that she hadn't needed to tell them to stop.

And she'd buried it, forgotten it, until Alex came to Joe base, brought back from the last Congo mission, and for the first time Shana had seen firsthand what rape truly was, what a male enemy intent on sexually hurting a female captive was capable of doing. She'd thrown up because she'd contrasted her experience with Alex's and realized just how inadequate that training she'd received had been. And then later, when Cam had been assaulted by Walker, and as details of her captivity at fifteen had come out in their counseling/physical training sessions, Shana had realized at that moment that there was no preparation for that kind of thing, that you either lived through it or you didn't, and surviving sexual assault was more a matter of who you were and what kind of help and support you had afterward than any pale imitation of 'preparation' Quantico could devise. And she'd told Alex later that she didn't know how Alex had survived it; she didn't know if she could. If she would.

She focused on her body; to her relief, though she was experiencing a lot of pain, none of it was from between her legs; she didn't think it would have been possible for them to rape her while unconscious and have her not realize it when she was awake, therefore, the logical conclusion was that they hadn't started that part of their entertainment yet. And if she was very, very lucky…they wouldn't get a chance to.

_Please, please, Snake Eyes, please find me! _She prayed frantically as the vehicle she was in lurched onward toward an unknown destination.


	18. Chapter 18:Search

**Chapter 18: Search**

"All right, listen up."

The roomful of Joes quieted; they were all here except for Recondo and Brawler, who were at the jail hut keeping an eye on Zimurinda. Flint had opened up the maps of the area and spent some time looking over them with Snake Eyes, trying to pinpoint the place along the river where he had last seen Shana. Unfortunately, Snake Eyes wasn't good on maps and directions; he knew landmarks and geographical features only.

"Recoil, Spirit, and Polaris, as our long range recon specialists, are going to go out with Snake Eyes and I. Snake Eyes will take us to the spot on the river where he last saw Scarlett; that will be the starting point for our search. I'm going to return here with Snake Eyes—no, don't argue, Snake Eyes, you're still battered and bruised and limping from your fight with the river, and I heard you throwing up last night—that river water wasn't any too clean and I expect that vomiting is going to get worse as the day goes on. So you'll come out with me just long enough to show us where to start and then you're coming back.

"Spirit, Polaris, Recoil: Snake Eyes says they put Shana on a jeep, so I'm assuming that eventually you'll find a dirt road or something similar. If you find that you'll probably run into a place where the roads split, and you might decide to split up to cover more ground faster. So I'm giving each one of you one of the recon teams' radios. Stay in contact; I want hourly updates from each one of you. I want to know the minute you find something.

"Gung Ho, Brawler, Recondo, and I will split watch duties, so that leaves White Queen and Snake Eyes to hold down the fort. I need you to stay here, no haring off all over the village, White Queen. Although Snake Eyes will be here the whole day, and at least two members of the watch team will be here at a time, we're also going to be catching up on sleep since the recon team won't be in any shape to share watch duty." He stopped speaking as there was a polite rap on the wooden door of the hut and the village headman walked in.

He didn't waste time with pleasantries; he got right to the point. "A party of my best warriors and trackers would like to go with you to look for Madame Firehair."

If Flint found the reference to Scarlett being 'Madame Firehair' funny, he didn't show it. "Headman, with all due respect, this isn't your fight."

The man drew himself up to his full height, somehow managing to look regal and imposing even though Flint towered a good head taller than he was. "She is our friend too, Monsieur Flint. While you have been out looking for our children, she has been helping the Silent One," he inclined his head toward Snake Eyes, "teach us to defend the children, and ourselves when they came back. She is as much a friend to the tribe as Madame Alex is, now. So just as you have found our people, let us help find yours." The leathery old lips peeled back into a slight smile. "It is not, after all, as if you could prevent us; all we need do is simply follow you until we know what you are looking for and where, and there isn't anything you can do to stop us."

"As much as I dislike the simple thought of putting a civilian in harm's way, Flint, he does have a point. Time and speed are of the essence here. We need to cover as much ground as possible in as short a time as possible, and having extra searchers—the villagers—can only help." Gung Ho pointed out quietly. Left unsaid was the unspoken fear in the room; they all knew what the rogues had done to Alex when they captured her, and there was the very real specter of that happing to Scarlett. It was a possibility that Flint was very determinedly trying not to think about. And it was that fear that made his decision for him.

"All right. Bring your people; we'll be leaving in a few minutes. Snake Eyes—" Scarlett would laugh later at him being called the 'Silent One' by the villagers "—saw where Zimurinda's forces dragged her from the river and he'll show us where to start."

It was a silent, grim party that set out from Keshero a handful of minutes later; Polaris, Spirit, Recoil, Flint, and Snake Eyes were concentrating on the task ahead; Flint was feeling some of the helplessness any leader felt when on a mission in hostile territory. There was nothing he could do but give the order, sit back, and let his people do their jobs and hope at the same time for the best possible results.

Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. It was one of the things Joes learned when going on missions. Best case scenario: they would find Scarlett walking along the trail. She would look up, see them, wave and ask what had taken them so long, and then she'd rush into Snake Eyes' arms.

Worst case scenario: they would find Shana as they had found Alex, prisoner, captive, suffering. Alex and Flint had been missing for two and a half days by the time Lady Jaye and the rest of the team had found them. In that span of time an incredible amount of damage had been done to both their bodies; Flint had spent a week in the infirmary, Alex...nearly two months. Flint didn't want to think about Scarlett coming back in the same condition that Alex had been in; seeing Shana like that would kill him, he just knew it would.

And Snake Eyes. Oh Jesus, Snake Eyes. As much as Flint was worried about Scarlett, he worried for Snake Eyes too. Over the years of working together, Snake Eyes and Scarlett had become closer than any two people Flint had ever met. They talked as one, thought as one, lived as one, loved as one, moved as one, personalities and physicality so seamlessly enmeshed that there was no telling where one began and the other ended. Not anymore. When Scarlett wasn't around, Snake Eyes looked somehow lost, incomplete; Flint wasn't sure anymore if he was so used to seeing them together that he just automatically looked for both of them together, or if they really were lost without each other.

_I don't want to find the answer to that question,_ he prayed fiercely. _Please God, don't let me find the answer to that question. _

Scarlett was a valued, and valuable member of the team, irreplaceable for many reasons; her skills, her talents, her abilities; her sense of humor, the liveliness that she could bring to even the dullest meeting, the bright side to every serious situation. Rather like her protégé, striding along beside Spirit; Polaris was a relatively new addition to the team but Flint had already noticed just how close Shana and Cam were despite having known each other for only a few months. It wasn't that Shana wasn't close to Allie and Courtney; she was. But there was something else there between Cam and Shana, something deeper; almost sisterly. Flint knew, from reading Shana's personnel file, that Shana's relationship with her own sister was turbulent, and less than ideal; a few years back when Shana had gotten shot in the head, Shana's sister had tried to get her life support shut off. Thank God Snake Eyes had had the sense to throw her out, and that Doc had more sense than to listen to her. While technically Siobhan's wishes should have come before Snake Eyes' since she was related to Shana and Snake Eyes was not, no one would point that out to Snake Eyes. No one would dare. Sometimes Flint wondered why they wouldn't just get married, then Snake Eyes' wishes respecting Shana would have more precedence than the family who had obviously not known Shana as well as Snake Eyes did.

Snake Eyes broke into a trot, and Flint pushed aside his own thoughts and feelings aside to focus on the mission. He could hear the roaring of the river, now, and as they rounded a bend in the path he saw the turbulent roil of water before them. While the banks got steeper the further upstream one went, here the land was about on level with the water level of the river.

He could see immediately why Scarlett, Snake Eyes, and the rogues would have washed up here. A deep, (relatively) quieter pool had been created behind a sort of logjam, as debris and detritus from what looked like years of storms, floods, and monsoons like the one they were in now was washed up against a shallow bank. It had ended up creating something like a natural beaver dam, if Africa had beavers—Flint wasn't really sure about that, but thought not; furry animals would die in the sticky, muggy humidity of summer.

Snake Eyes broke into a trot, stopping next to a large log pushed up against the bank, rapped a knuckle against it. "This is where he washed up," Polaris said quietly, although Snake Eyes' meaning was obvious even to the eight Keshero villagers who'd accompanied them to this spot. "The rogues came out the river on that side, and that was where they pulled Shana out of the water. Snake Eyes says they did CPR on her, and that was when she woke up. The jeep pulled up over on that bank, and they threw her in and roared off." Polaris stopped speaking, looking at the river, at the opposite bank; then, before Flint could tell her to be careful, she climbed nimbly onto the closest log and started to make her way across.

It seemed surreal to Flint, like an old-fashioned arcade game where you tried to get your toad to hop across an obstacle course. Polaris hopped lightly from log to log, from one island of debris to the other. The villagers followed her without hesitation; after a moment, Spirit and Recoil followed too, their hesitation probably a result of the fact that they knew they were heavier than Polaris' one hundred thirty pounds. Still, all three of the recon specialists made it across the river, and Flint watched as they knelt, examined the ground there. Polaris came up with something shiny in her hand, drew her arm back, and flung it across the river to the two men standing on the opposite bank. As it thumped into the mud just in front of them, Flint leaned to pick it up and knew what it was even as his fingers closed on it; a spent shell casing, ostensibly from one of the bullets that had been fired at Snake Eyes. A small clue, but one nonetheless, a validation that they had Scarlett, had shot at Snake Eyes in an effort to keep him away from her.

A last wave to Snake Eyes, and the three Joes plus the eight Keshero villagers were gone.

Flint drew in a long breath, then dropped a comforting hand on Snake Eyes' shoulder. "They'll find her, Snake Eyes. They are the best search specialists the US military has to offer. They will find her and bring her back."

Snake Eyes looked at Flint, and the naked question in his eyes made Flint feel slightly uncomfortable. He didn't need Shana or Cam there to translate; he didn't need Snake Eyes to sign in order to know what the ninja was saying. _Will she come back safe?_

"I can't answer that one, Snake Eyes," he said, wishing he could lie and say it would be all right, but knowing that he couldn't. One, Snake Eyes would spot the lie from a mile away. Two, they were both soldiers, they knew what the reality of capture in hostile territory entailed. And three, Snake Eyes had seen what Alex looked like when she came back. They all had. Flint couldn't even lie to himself about that. "Come on. We have to get back to the village, I have a turn at guard duty coming up."

Snake Eyes stopped walking for a moment, so suddenly that Flint walked several paces past him before he realized the ninja had stopped. As he turned back, Snake Eyes raised his hands. _Would Zimurinda know where his men took Shana?_

The thought rocked him. In all his worrying about Scarlett and where she might be, not once had it occurred to him that their captive might know where his men had taken her. They had taken a route here that passed the place where Shandi and the other children had been kept; the makeshift rogue camp had been empty, abandoned. The rogues hadn't gone back, which, unfortunately for the Joes, was smart; if the cobra knew the nest had been raided it would be stupid to go back. These guys were apparently just smart enough to realize that.

Gung Ho and Brawler were standing by the door of the jail as Flint and Snake Eyes came up; Gung Ho raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Snake Eyes thinks Zimurinda might know where his men took Shana," Flint explained, and from the look of shock on Gung Ho's face, it hadn't occurred to him either. The shock was quickly replaced by a calculating look, and before Flint could ask what the big Cajun had in mind, Gung Ho was gone.

But not for long. Moments later he was back with Recondo, who took the position by the door that Ettienne had so lately occupied, and Gung Ho was already rolling up his sleeves as he walked into the makeshift jail.

Each time they had changed guard they had gone in, released Zimurinda, and let him relieve himself and get a drink of water. The man sneered arrogantly at them whenever they'd done so, as if he were taking this gesture of humanity as a sign of the Joes' weakness. The sneer faltered this time as he saw, for the first time, Snake Eyes standing silently in his head-to-toe black; as he took in Gung Ho grimly rolling up his sleeves, at Flint's stony expression.

"You're American military. You can't torture an unarmed prisoner."

Flint smiled, a cold, ugly smile that he'd perfected over the years, a smile that Allie said gave her shivers when she saw it. Zimurinda's façade of bravado cracked when he saw it; there was just a touch of fear in his eyes. Good. "Your men have one of our people. We want to know where they would have taken her."

"Her?" Zimurinda's eyes lit up avidly. "The blond bitch?"

Gung Ho took a step forward, his fists clenching involuntarily. "Leave her out of it," he snarled.

Zimurinda laughed, an ugly sound. "Out of it. Yes, like she was out of it the last day I had her. She barely moved at all. Not like she did the first day I had her." Cruelty lit up his eyes. "Has she forgotten me yet? Does she still cry in the middle of the night when she dreams of what I did to her?" His smile widened.

Every word cut into Gung Ho like a knife, laying open the pain of the wound that had never completely closed, the pain of a wound that deepened whenever he saw her scars, whenever he saw her flinch from someone's stare, whenever she woke sobbing in the middle of the night from remembered pain, whenever she came back from a counseling session drained and exhausted and so upset she couldn't eat; the nights when she took sleeping pills to sleep so that nightmares wouldn't haunt her dreams; the nights she woke up screaming and Ettienne would hold her, hum lullabies to her until she felt safe enough to sleep again. Angry, hurting, furious, he took two quick steps forward and slammed his fist into Zimurinda's grinning face.

"'Tienne," came a soft voice from the door, and Ettienne felt rage shatter into shame as he saw Alex standing there. From the look on her face, she'd heard every word, every hurtful comment, but she would never condone what he'd just done.

Alex stood there for long moments. The hut was silent. Her face was pale, but there were two bright spots of color high on her cheeks; a sign, Ettienne now knew from a summer of being with her, that she was angry. Her eyes were blue fire, and as she closed the door of the 'jail' he expected her to start yelling at him.

What she did do shocked all of them.

She crossed the floor, her step sure, shrugging out of her fatigue top and handing it to Ettienne, who took it without a word. Before any of the three men could react, one hand was gripping both sides of Zimurinda's chin, her thumb and index finger digging deeply into both sides of his neck just under his jaw. "Listen to me, you slimy son of a bitch," she snarled, a sound so unlike her that Ettienne even saw startlement in Snake Eyes' eyes. "Your men have one of my best friends. You're going to tell us where they would have taken her."

"No," Zimurinda gurgled, but there was fear in his eyes. Definite fear. And in that moment, Flint saw White Queen's ploy. Zimurinda could handle male intimidation; it was nothing new to him, nothing different. But a woman standing up to him…no. It was something completely alien to him; he'd probably never had a woman confront him before.

White Queen stepped close to him, until her face was only inches away from his. Her voice dropped, soft, deadly. "Do you remember what you did to me?"

"Wh-what?" White Queen's other hand moved; because her body was in front of Zimurinda's with her back to the male Joes, they didn't see what she did, but they certainly had an idea as Zimurinda's face twisted in agony. He gritted his teeth, trying not to scream, but it was plain that whatever she was doing, she was hurting him.

"Where is my friend?"

Zimurinda was silent.

This time when White Queen's hand moved, he couldn't stay silent; his scream filled the hut. "Camp," he gasped raggedly. "Back—to camp—with kids."

Flint stepped forward, yanked Zimurinda away from White Queen. "We went there. They weren't there. Try again." Zimurinda just sneered.

He barely even felt his fists rising; anger was a red mist before his eyes, and then it was a film of blood on his hands as he felt the satisfying impact of his knuckles on Zimurinda's face. Once, twice, three times, before Flint managed to restrain himself. All of the anger and rage that had simmered in him when he'd been a captive, when he'd watched Alex be tortured, as he watched her painful recovery—all of that rage was behind the fist he smashed into the face that had haunted his nightmares for months.

White Queen closed in again, this time laying her right hand on Flint's fist even as she balled her left one. Zimurinda's voice rose in panic as he saw her expression; he obviously was more afraid of Alex hitting him than Flint. "I—I don't know! I don't know! If they aren't there I don't know!"

White Queen spun on her heel away from him. "Useless piece of garbage," she spat. "Let him think about that for a little while." And she stalked out. Stunned, Flint, Gung Ho, and Snake Eyes followed her out.


	19. Chapter 19: Sandra

**Chapter 19: Sandra**

Hands grabbed her ankles, and this time she couldn't stop the pained cry as she was dragged backwards out of the bed of the vehicle—a truck, she deduced now as she slid courtesy of the hands dragging her facedown. She slid backward helplessly, cursing mentally as her chest scraped along the bed of the truck, until they dropped her ankles and she brought her legs down, felt solid ground under her feet. A hand on the back of her neck prevented her from straightening up, and she remained bent over what was apparently the tailgate of the truck for a moment before she felt hands on the waist of her pants. She howled in panic then, her mind flashing back to the sexual assault resistance course, and what they'd taught her then. _Don't fight. The more you fight the more they'll hurt you, and you cannot afford to be hurt so badly you can't escape._

They were easy words but impossible to follow; the violating feel of hands all over her made her want to throw up. It was worse than the long-ago training at Quantico; there, she'd known that no matter what it looked like, she had never for a moment been out of control. Here, she truly was helpless; bound, hooded, not knowing where she was, who was around her—she kicked out as best as she could with both bound feet behind her.

Whoever was standing behind her grunted in pain as her boot heels came in contact with some portion of his anatomy. Before she could follow up, a hand slammed her head into the bed of the truck with such force that she saw stars; dazed for a moment, she went limp. And in that moment she heard a voice, a familiar one, that she had never once expected ever to hear again.

"Easy. Don't damage the merchandise yet. Get her upright; I want the hood off. She's a white woman, and white women are prized on the market. Let me see her face." The voice was female, with a Colombian accent; and Shan could picture the owner of that voice, and rage filled her as heavy hands yanked her upright, turned her around, and pulled the hood off her head.

"_**Sandra!**_" All of her fury and rage went into the pronunciation of that one name as Shana stared into the face of the woman he'd hated since she'd first set foot in the halls of the ICC on a deep cover assignment almost six months ago, "You slimy little bitch!"

To judge by the look of shock on her face, Sandra hadn't been expecting to see Shana either. "Shana," she breathed as her eyes narrowed and her voice hardened. "I must say this is unexpected. I never thought I'd ever see you again."

"Same here," Shana retorted, furious. "So whose flunky are you now, with Velez gone?"

Sandra took exactly two steps forward and slapped Shana with all the strength in her arm. Shana's head jerked with the impact, her cheek stinging, but smiled bitterly, contemptuously, at the Colombian woman as she turned her head back to look at her. "That the best you can do? You'll have to do better. I've been hit by worse than you, and harder."

"Bitch." Sandra slapped her again; still bound and held by the two hefty goons, Shana couldn't avoid the blow. "Take her inside," Sandra ordered the two men holding her. "Put her in the breaking room. As soon as I get done inspecting the next shipment, I'll be in to see her. She's not going to the markets, she's mine." Her eyes turned hard as she looked at Shana again. "I owe her for taking my new boy toy away from me."

_What?_ But they were already on the move, the goons holding Shana's arms not even bothering to free her feet so she could walk; they just carried her bodily off between them. _Escape not possible at the moment. Figure out where you are. _

So she took stock of her surroundings. A big concrete building, relatively modern by the standards of this country but run-down and decrepit by US standards. The windows were dark, but unbroken; Shan suspected they were painted black on the inside, and when they actually got inside she found her guess was correct. And she also found that the outside was deceptively decrepit; as they made their way further inside she realized that at one point this must have been a hospital; several deserted rooms looked like they had once been medical examining rooms, with battered steel exam tables, rusted hulks of wheeled hospital beds; but once they were inside the main entrance, crossed what must once have been the emergency admitting room but now looked like a jail; where emergency cubicles would have once been now had barred doors, like cells, and she got a vague glimpse of faces in those unlit cells, some far too young. Fury rose in her as she realized what this must be.

'A new power has positioned itself at the heart of the human trafficking trade in the Congo.' Wasn't that what Lieutenant General Johnson had told Hawk? And she remembered what Alex's friend, the bush pilot, had said; the lighter-skinned woman who had taken the job of sorting and dealing. _Sandra. I'll bet he was talking about Sandra. Who else could it be?_

The guards weren't gentle about hoisting her up onto a steel restraint table, the kind built in the shape of a T so that the arms could be strapped down outstretched. Despite Shana's attempts at trying to fight, they strapped her legs down together onto the long end of the T, then once her lower body was immobilized they strapped her arms out to the extended crosspiece of the T. And then they left.

Shana tested the straps. Futile. They were heavy, thick leather, the kind used to immobilize mentally ill patients or patients who presented a risk to staff or themselves. She was completely helpless, a bug pinned to corkboard, waiting for the scientist to come and examine it. And she hated feeling helpless, hated feeling out of control.

A long time passed. Enough for Shana to doze a little, knowing that she would have to be awake and alert when Sandra came for her. Any chance she could take to get free, she would; she'd seen what Clayton and Olivia had looked like when they came back from Colombia, knew that Olivia was now pregnant with Auggie because Clayton had been forced to rape her. The thought made Shana want to throw up at what her friends would have felt like going through that, but it was also an object lesson; Sandra was not above using physical pain and torture to get what she wanted, and she wasn't above the use of drugs either—Clayton's mission debriefing had included a brief statement of Olivia having gone through withdrawal after being forcibly injected with drugs.

Not that Shana didn't think she couldn't handle drugs; one of the things that her classified training at Quantico had covered was the use of and resistance to narcointerrogation; the attempted extraction of information using drugs. Sodium pentothal and barbital had been the drugs most widely in use then, and in order for Shana to understand what they did to the human body and brain, she'd had to go through it. She vividly remembered lying on a padded table, somewhat like this one but with the straps padded, allowing them to strap her arms down because they didn't know how she would react to them and they didn't want her hurting herself, or anyone else, while in that state. Just before they'd injected her, they'd given her an answer to a question, and the goal of the exercise was to keep that answer secret while her interrogators questioned her first with drugs, then without. The first time they did it was a control run; and she'd been horrified to discover, at the end of the two day session, that she had indeed revealed the secret answer.

They showed her video of what she'd done, how she'd reacted, while under the drugs; what she'd said and how she'd behaved. Then they started an intensive resistance course with her; how to hold out, what to do. Drugs used in narcointerrogation had the effect of removing one's ability to think before speaking; eliminate the ability to filter what you were saying. One of the techniques to beat that was to think, concentrate, fiercely, on something entirely different, completely unrelated, at the moment you were being injected; if that was the only thought on your mind then everything else would be moot.

The second time Shana had been put under, she had not only taken their advice to keep some different, unrelated thought in her mind, but she'd also taken the time to think those thoughts in her second language, Gaelic. She was Irish, after all and her father had insisted that young Shana O'Hara learn the language. It had been a pleasant surprise to find later that Allie also spoke Gaelic, and there had been occasions when they were with The Guys and didn't want said guys to know what they were talking about; Gaelic was a good way to have an unintelligible conversation.

And her ploy was a success; she not only hadn't revealed the secret answer to the question they asked her, they had to bring in an FBI translator just to make out what she was saying, what she was talking about. It was a matter of pride for her as she went through the next three days after successful completion and extensive debriefing, when she experienced some of the side effects of the drugs; nausea, muscle tremors, drowsiness. They pretty much just let her sleep it off, and it was another successful phase in her training.

She was just starting to wonder if they'd forgotten she was in here when the door opened and Sandra came in, her dark eyes fixed on Shana. "Such a surprise to see you here."

"I could say the same thing," Shana said warily, not at all reassured by the feral, predatory look in Sandra's eyes. "So this is where you ran off to after we took Velez out."

"I came here. To the last place I thought anyone would look for me."

"And just like you did last time you managed to worm your way into the good graces of the person with the most power. Did you come by it honestly this time, or did you sleep your way to it? Who did you seduce this time?"

Sandra lashed out, slapping Shana's cheek . "You're a fine one to talk about seduction," she hissed. "I had him. I had him around my finger. I loved him, and I knew he loved me, I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me. And then you had to go and steal him!" Her hands clenched into fists. "I vowed then that you'd pay for that someday. I just didn't expect it to be this soon."

"Who?" Shana asked, keeping her voice steady, not betraying any of the apprehension she was feeling. _Control,_ she told herself. _Control._ "Who is this 'he' I'm supposed to have seduced?"

"My boyfriend. The scarred-faced man who drove Judy Donnelly's car."

Shana laughed; she couldn't help herself. The thought of Snake Eyes being Sandra's lover was so absurd it didn't even bear thinking about. "No, you mean _my_ boyfriend."

"Yours?" Sandra stared at Shana like she didn't believe the redhead.

"Yes. Mine. Good God, Sandra, you really didn't recognize him? You picked both of us at the airport in The Hague and drove us to Alex's old apartment and you never even recognized him? How the hell did you manage to live this long with observation skills like that?"

"No! You lie! He was mine! We went on a date—he bought me drinks, took me home that night, and we…made love…" Sandra stopped because Shana was laughing.

"You stupid bitch. You absolute blind, stupid bitch." Shana grinned nastily at her. "Think about that night, all right? Do you remember anything? Anything at all? Or did you just wake up the next morning with a pounding headache and half your clothes on the floor?" She saw the realization in Sandra's eyes. "Yes. He told me all about it. He yelled at me, you know, said I 'owed him' for 'forcing' him to make these kinds of 'sacrifices'. You woke up with your dress unzipped and your bra and panties off, but your dress was still on because he couldn't even bear to look at you naked, you repulsed him so much."

"No," Sandra breathed, looking stunned, then something dark and ugly settled on her admittedly pretty features, turning them hard and bitter. "No. No." she ran to the drawers, started pulling handfuls of things out. A battery, red and black wires, alligator clips and electrode pads. "No!"

Shana struggled but was helpless to prevent Sandra from placing electrodes on the skin of her temples, then clipping wires and electrical leads to the electrodes. She knew what was coming next because she'd seen those circular patches of burned red skin on Olivia's forehead after she and Clayton had been brought back from Colombia; electricity. "If you're here, then so is he," Sandra's eyes glittered with malice. "Tell me where he is."

"Absolutely not." Shana snarled, all humor gone.

"Tell me where he is!" And a jolt of electricity coursed through Shana's body. She couldn't even draw breath to scream, and she just hung there with every muscle in her body shuddering until the current released her and dropped her back onto the table, the leather straps creaking slightly as she relaxed against them, her ragged breathing rasping through the room.

"I'm not telling you anything. Go ahead and torture me, you twisted little bitch, you probably liked torturing others when you were growing up. You were probably a bully. Where did you learn your interrogation techniques, the Russian Mafia?"

"Snooty American bitch, think you're so smart. I grew up in Colombia, my father and mother were Colombia's elite and I had a comfortable life—until President Andres Arango was elected in 1998. He made a public pledge to clean up corruption in his government—and one of my father's friends took my father down with him. My family lost everything. We went to live on a coffee plantation, and an accident with a machine there when I was ten killed them. My only alternative would have been to stay on the plantation and become the plantation owner's personal little slave—and that was no life at all! I ran away after a couple of months, joined the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, and I fought as a patriot for my country, just as you fight for your country! You Americans with your cushy, soft military training—you don't know what it's like scraping a living out here, giving the male rebels sex in exchange for training, for food, for shelter, just to survive!"

Shana lost Sandra's next few words as she screamed at the electric current ripping through her again. When she could finally think again, Sandra spoke. "I decided I didn't want to live like that. When the military captured my rebel team, I played the helpless brainwashed little fool. They believed me. They sent me to counseling, gave me nice clothes, a home, food. I was clean and warm and well-fed for the first time, and I decided I wanted to stay that way. You, you're American, you've had everything handed to you. I never had that! I did what I could to survive!"

Shana focused on what Sandra was saying. "It must have been hard to lose your parents like that," she said quietly, coaxingly, pulling on all of her training. _Project empathy. Make her believe you sympathize. Make your target believe you're on their side, get them to drop their guard_. "You're right, compared to yours, my life was fine. My mother and I don't really get along well, but my father and I had, and still have, a very close relationship. And I have an older sister and three brothers too." It was horrifying, to lose your parents like that, in an accident, at a very young age. But then, so had Cam; and then she had spent three years as a sex slave to multiple men, and she hadn't let it twist and warp her like Sandra had. Shana marveled again at the twists of fate life could throw at people, and marveled again, at Cam's ability to have overcome what happened to her. Sandra apparently couldn't. "I can't imagine what you've been through."

Sandra laughed, and the sound sent a chill up Shana's spine. "Thinking you can win me over? Using your military training to make me think I'm on your side, thinking I'll let you go? Enough talking." Shana almost gagged as Sandra wrapped a thick wad of cloth around her head, effectively silencing her, she could make nothing but a garbled sound of protest as Sandra yanked the bead chain that held her dog tags off her head and threw them carelessly over her shoulder, not caring when they hit the floor somewhere behind her. "Now, I have a few things I have to attend to, so let's keep you busy thinking about what you're supposed to be telling me." A prick of a needle in her arm, and Shana cried out behind the gag as she felt Sandra inject something that burned all the way into her vein. "And I'll come see how you're doing in a little bit. Enjoy." And she strolled out of the room, switching out the light, leaving Shana alone in the darkness.


	20. Chapter 20: Anger

**Chapter 20: Anger**

They followed White Queen out, watching her stiff back retreat from them. But as soon as the door closed behind Flint, Alex broke into a run to the side of the hut, and a moment later was on her knees throwing up the contents of her stomach. Stunned and silent, Flint and Snake Eyes simply watched as Ettienne dropped to his knees beside her, held her as she heaved, then offered her his shoulder as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and promptly buried her head in his shoulder.

"Jesus, Alex." Flint stood there, feeling uncomfortable. He had no idea what to say. She kept scrubbing her hand, the one she'd used to do…whatever…to him on her fatigues, the coarse material reddening her palm.

She finally dragged her head up from Ettienne's shoulder. "I had to," she choked. "I have never been so disgusted in my life, I hated every minute of it. As much as I threaten perps in the courtroom—I once told a guy I wanted to put his balls in a blender—I never, ever saw myself as being the kind of person to torture another human being."

"Alex…dat's not torture. Believe me, dat wasn't torture." Ettienne held her at arm's length, forcing her to look squarely at him. "What he did to you was torture. What you did to him…" he paused.

"What _did_ you do to him? Flint asked, curiosity overcoming his reluctance to discuss something she obviously felt shame over.

She mumbled something to the ground and refused to look up at him.

"What?"He stepped forward, trying to hear her better.

"I twisted his balls." Her voice was just barely above a whisper.

Flint threw back his head and laughed. Despite the grimness of the situation, Snake Eyes almost smiled too. "That's it? You twisted his balls? I bloodied his face! And you're feeling guilty about that?"

"We're supposed to be the honorable ones, Flint!" White Queen started getting angry, her shame and guilt washed away in indignation that he would be this callous about hurting another human being. "We're supposed to take the moral high road, we're supposed to set the example of honor and decency and compassion for the rest of the world!"

"Alex, those are very admirable sentiments, but we're also human." Flint sobered, eyeing her. "We're human. We saw what he did to you. Ettienne saw what he did to you. And if you hadn't stepped in when you did, I'm not entirely certain that I wouldn't have kept throwing a few more punches. It's not only what he did to you, but what his people could be doing, right now, this very minute, to Shana." Levity vanished and he saw the anguished realization in Alex's eyes. "Do you want to see Shana come back looking like you did? Feeling like you felt? Having to recover from the same things you did? We've known her a lot longer than we've known you, Alex, and it will kill me to see Shana like that—not to mention what it'll do to Snake Eyes."

"No," Alex whispered, her shoulders hunching with remembered pain. "No...what I felt, what I went through…I wouldn't wish that on anyone, even my worst enemy. At least, when Velez died—he died quickly."

"I agree with you. We all agree with you. So stop feeling guilty, Alex, you did what you had to." He jerked a thumb back in the direction of the jail. "In fact, that could have done more good than harm. I saw his eyes; he wasn't expecting a woman to stand up to him, least of you, who, the last time he saw you, was a wreck. He's sitting in there now contrasting what he just saw of you to what he saw of you the last time we were here and I'm guessing he doesn't like the contrast. At all. I'll bet twisting his balls didn't hurt as much as he actually thought it did; it was the shock of having you be the one to do it, the ruthlessness you displayed, because he's never had a woman confront him before. The next time we step in what do you want to bet we can get him to spill his guts just by threatening to bring you in again?"

"And if he calls your bluff?" White Queen drew in a shaky breath. "I'm not going to lie and say this whole thing didn't bother me, because it did, and I'm going to feel guilty about it for a while. Bt at the same time, now that you've pointed it out, if his men are…doing to Shana…what they did to me, I'm not going to say I wouldn't hurt him again. We have to get her back." Her voice shook a little. "Dear God, please, give her back."

_We'll find her._ Snake Eyes' hands moved, drawing everyone's attention. _We will find her, I will never stop looking for her, and when I find her, if they've hurt her there won't be anywhere on Earth these people will be able to run to get far enough that I won't hunt them down_. And Alex had no doubt, looking into those blue eyes behind the black mask, that he was entirely serious. He would, and was perfectly capable of, hunting the rogues down.

It was oddly comforting—and slightly scary. Because she'd seen that look on Ettienne's face too, when she woke screaming from nightmares; he too had that look of implacable vengeance sometimes, and she thanked God that she'd killed Velez because if she hadn't Ettienne would have unhesitatingly gone to jail for murdering him. There was a deep core of protectiveness in these men, this team, that she'd become familiar with over the summer, and it was in common with all of them; Ettienne with her, Snake Eyes with Shana, Dash with Allie, and she'd even seen it with Clayton and Liv. He might not be ready to get married to her, and God knew Liv would certainly wait—her man-shyness being a large part of that—but whether Clayton and Liv knew it or not, they'd both settled in for the long haul, and they did love each other. It was just a matter of time on Liv's part, and patience on Clayton's.

"If I have to I'll do it again." She drew in a deep shuddering breath, then straightened her spine. "Shana told me something once about military expediency. So be it. I'll do it if I have to. I don't want to, but we can't leave Shana in their hands." Her voice dropped. "It's already been almost a day since we last saw her."

"Let's head back to the hut and wait. If we're very, very lucky, when the recon teams come back they'll have found some trace of her. At least we can make sure they have hot food and dry clothes when they get back." Flint, Snake Eyes, Gung Ho and White Queen headed back to the hut.

Beside the door of the jail, Recondo blew out his breath as he turned to Brawler. "Remind me never, ever to get that woman mad at me."

One look at Polaris' face when the recon team came back a little after dark told Flint their search had been unsuccessful.

He'd never seen her look so grim—and so tired. She was practically dragging, and when she took out her map and shaded in the area she'd searched around the spot where Snake Eyes had last seen Shana, he understood that she had pushed herself probably just a little past her limits that day; her search area was a lot larger than Spirit's, or Recoil's. Her breathing rasped in her throat, and he listened with concern; if she overstrained her lungs she might damage them irreparably, and she might have to take a medical discharge.

"I didn't push that hard," Polaris told him finally, almost as if she'd read his mind—damn it, how did she and Scarlett do that? _She's been spending too much time with her. God help the rest of us guys, I don't know if we could handle having both Shana and her 'clone' on base._

But there were other matters to consider right now; getting Scarlett back was the most important, followed immediately by what condition she would be in. And right now, there was one very unpleasant duty he'd been putting off doing that was going to have to be done now. He hadn't called Base yet to let Hawk know Scarlett was missing; it had been the middle of the night here when they left to go search, and it was now roughly about eight in the morning. Hawk would be up now. He punched in the communications code for Joe base on their satphone. "Mission Team Alpha to Joe Base. Come in."

Moments later the speaker crackled. "Mission Team Alpha, this is Joe Base."

"I need to speak to Hawk please. It is urgent."

A longer pause, then Hawk's voice. "General Hawk here."

"General, it's Flint. We have accomplished our mission, we located the children, alive and performed a rescue operation that brought all of them safe back to Keshero."

He could hear the smile in Hawk's voice. "That is welcome news indeed, Flint—"

Flint cut him off tersely. "Sir. In the process we lost one of our team. Scarlett and Snake Eyes ended up in the river after an unavoidable accident and were washed downstream; Snake Eyes made it back but Scarlett was pulled from the river by the rogues and is currently MIA."

Dead silence for a moment, then, "Say that again."

"There was an accident. Scarlett and Snake Eyes were washed downstream when a bridge collapsed. Snake Eyes saw Scarlett dragged out of the water unconscious by the rogues, given CPR, then as she regained consciousness they loaded her in the back of a jeep and drove her away. Snake Eyes was prevented from following by bullets and could not pursue on foot."

Curses blistered the comm signal between New York and the Congo.

Flint waited for the initial burst of invective to stop before he said, "I've sent out search teams to try and locate her; in the meantime, we have also captured the rogue leader, Lieutenant Colonel Innocent Zimurinda, and we have…asked him…to divulge the whereabouts of his people and any possible locations where they might be keeping Shana."

Another long silence as Hawk thought out the possible implications. Then, "I'm going to leave this up to your discretion, Warrant Officer. You know better than anyone what those rogues are capable of doing to a woman," Flint swallowed hard, "and I'm sure you are almost the last person who would want to see Scarlett in that condition." Left unsaid was that Snake Eyes would be even more affected. "I will stress to you that Scarlett is a valuable asset to the US Military and cannot be left in enemy hands. You are, therefore, authorized to use whatever actions you deem necessary to accomplish the goal of getting her back. Do you understand, Warrant Officer?" Hawk's voce broke. "Get her back, Flint. I don't care whatever else you have to do, whoever's toes you have to step on, what actions you have to take, just get her back! I'll sign whatever I need to, I'll say whatever I may need to say to get whatever support you think you need, just get her back."

"I will, General."

"See that you do. Keep me informed of any progress." The phone clicked off.

Flint put the phone down quietly, feeling all eyes on him. It was times like this when being a leader was a bitch; when you had to make hard decisions or pass along unpleasant news, and also when something happened to someone you were responsible for and you knew you were going to face a reprimand when you went back. But right now that didn't really matter; he would do whatever they had to in order to get Shana back, worry about everything else later. "General Hawk has authorized the use of 'whatever actions are deemed necessary' to get Scarlett back. For those of you who don't know, we did question Zimurinda this afternoon to find out what he knows about any possible locations where his men could be hiding with Scarlett. While he didn't divulge anything this time, I believe we made a distinct enough impression on him that he should be thinking very long and very hard about what he might know that would be of value.

"While the base team—Snake Eyes, White Queen, Brawler, Recondo, Gung Ho and I—are trying to extract locations from Zimurinda, I do want the recon personnel to continue their search through the jungle to try and locate any trace of Shana. We'll pick up tomorrow morning when we get up. Roll in now, let's get some sleep." He stopped speaking as Polaris got up. "Where are you going, Corporal?"

There was a slight hesitation, so slight that no one except a trained observer like Alex would have noticed it. "I want to thank the villagers for helping us out today," she said finally.

Flint nodded slightly. "All right. While you're out there, could you please send Brawler and Recondo back so Gung Ho and I can take their place on watch?" She nodded and disappeared out the door.

White Queen scrambled to her feet. "She might need a translator." Flint nodded again, and White Queen followed Polaris out the door.

She caught up with Polaris outside, heading (as she'd suspected) not for the village Headman's hut, but the jail. "Cam!"

Polaris turned and the cold hardness in her eyes stunned White Queen; she'd never seen the younger girl look like that. "You heard General Hawk in there. Whatever actions necessary." She spun on her heel and resumed walking.

"Where are you going?" White Queen grabbed Polaris' sleeve. "Cam! Where are you going?"

"I'm going to leave an impression on Zimurinda. A very deep one."

"I tried that this morning." White Queen briefly recounted the events of the afternoon to Polaris. By the time she was finished, the girl was staring at her.

"I knew you had guts—you had to, to come out here voluntarily. Didn't know you had that much, though." She sighed. "Interrogation is not against the rules, although torture is. I'm just going to ask him some questions."

"I'll come with you."

Polaris grinned crookedly. "We're probably going to get in trouble for this."

"I don't care. Scarlett's in this because of me; if I hadn't been so stubborn about wanting to come back here she would never have gotten mixed up in this mess. None of you would be here if it wasn't for me." The guilt was plain in White Queen's voice.

"Yes, Alex. None of us would be here if it wasn't for you. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here right now, I'd still probably be at Fort Benning playing Ranger support instead of out here on the front lines with all of you. Or dead because General Hawk wasn't at the SERE camp and no one else recognized hyperthermia until I was dead or brain-damaged." She saw White Queen's face. "Come on, stop feeling guilty about the things you can't do anything about and let's go do something about the things you can."

They reached the jail hut and smiled at Recondo and Brawler. "Hey. Flint said to tell you your turn's over. He's heading out here to take over for you. I had to go talk to some of the villagers, so I'll wait until he gets here. You two can go on, I know you're hungry and tired."

"Great. I'm starving and I hate this rain. Come on, Recondo, let's go." Brawler started to walk away.

Recondo took two steps forward, halted. Looked back at the hut. Looked at Brawler. Then narrowed his eyes at White Queen and Polaris. "You're staying here until he gets here?"

"Sure. Alex and I want to have ourselves a little chat. You wouldn't be interested."

Recondo folded his arms. "You going to have a chat between the two of you or you going to have a chat plus one in there?" He stabbed a finger at the jail hut, and its occupant.

Cam looked like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Uh-huh. That's what I thought." Recondo shook his head. "Look, you want to get Shana back as much as we do, but beating the crap out of that piece of crap isn't going to do it—"

"Actually, I think the ladies might have the right idea," Flint said mildly as he came up behind them, with Snake Eyes a silent shadow behind him. "Looking at what effect White Queen had on him earlier…are you sure you want to do this? Both of you?" he asked.

"Uh…" Polaris floundered.

Flint grinned thinly. "What, thought I wouldn't figure out where you were going and what you intended to do when you got there?"

"I hoped," Polaris muttered rebelliously

"Well, as much as it's going to shock you, seeing as how this is coming from someone Allie calls 'a stickler for rules', in this case I'm not going to keep you from doing whatever you're planning. General Hawk authorized us to do 'whatever necessary' to get Shana back and right now, I can't see any way we'll get to her quickly other than by taking a few shortcuts. I am, however, going to monitor the two of you to make sure you don't get a little overenthusiastic."

Polaris drew herself up, looking insulted. "Would we do that?"

"I wouldn't put it past you," Flint sad, and he was deadly serious. "You know why guys are so good in war? We have brute strength and not much by way of emotional depth. We don't hold grudges like you girls do. You girls are the deadlier of the human species because you think, and then you act, and you remember. You are also deeper emotionally; you have a deeper loyalty to each other and you take offenses against one of you a lot more personally. That makes you the enemy to watch in any battle." He sighed. "So I'm keeping an eye on you two. Now, are you going in or are we going to stand out here all night?"


	21. Chapter 21: Narcointerrogation

**Chapter 21: Narcointerrogation**

It seemed like an eternity before Sandra came back.

An agonizing eternity, to the redhead strapped to the restraint table. There was no way to measure time, since there was no clock.

The drugs didn't help either.

From her counter-narcointerrogation training at Quantico, she recognized sodium pentothal when the first dizzy rush hit her. A minute of euphoria, a feeling of flying; then the drowsiness, dizziness, a disconnected feeling, and some part of her mind vaguely recognized it as a drug rush. She tried to hang onto her focus, on her command of Gaelic, reasoning that Sandra would probably not have heard it before, much less know how to speak or be able to translate it. Time and again as the drugs wore at her consciousness, she lost that focus, lost her sense, but each time when awareness returned, her mind repeated the lessons she'd learned at Quantico. _Forget what happened, what you might have said the last time you lost control. Refocus and try again._ So she did. Again. And again.

It was so, so hard for her to try to not think of Snake Eyes; she wanted him, desperately, wanted him to appear out of her drug-induced hallucinations and fevered imaginings and hold her, hug her, reassure her it was all going to be okay and he would never let her go. But she also knew that if she were to let go, to let her mind wander to thoughts of him, she could be placing him in danger. Snake Eyes and Flint and the Joes and especially White Queen and Polaris. Shana didn't know how many of these rogues Sandra had at her beck and call; and she couldn't risk their small force of ten—nine, now, with her capture—trying to hold off an entire army. They would be overwhelmed, their training no defense against sheer numbers, and while some of them would die before they were captured, Shana was positive that special effort would be taken to capture Alex and Cam alive. And the thought of either of them captive in their hands, was something Shana didn't even want to think about. Alex wouldn't survive captivity a second time, and Cam... Better to not even think about that.

She felt the wave of exhaustion hit her as she started to come down off the drugs, and only then did she realize just how high a dose Sandra must have given her. She weighed pretty much the same now as she did when she'd taken the training, and they had been very careful to maintain her weight through the narcointerrogation course because if she lost too much or gained too much the dosages required for the training would be 'off' and be either terribly ineffective, or be dangerously high and she would suffer physically from them. Care had been taken throughout the training to avoid having her become either physiologically used to them or psychologically dependent on them; she'd been given weeks in between drug sessions in which to 'detox' and empty her body of their influence. Sandra had given her a much higher dose than Shana's trainers had ever given her, and she could feel it in the sudden exhaustion-fatigue symptoms.

She was gritting her teeth and trying to force herself not to shake when Sandra came back in. "Going through withdrawal?" The Colombian woman crooned sweetly, nastily, and she laid a hand on Shana's leg, felt the involuntary muscle spasms in Shana's thigh muscles. "After the amount I gave you, the symptoms will be severe. Here, let me give you some more, then you won't feel it." Shana yanked against the straps that held her, but was unable to prevent Sandra from injecting the inside of her elbow with another large needleful of pentothal. "Now, are you ready to tell me where I can find your boyfriend?"

"Go…to…hell," Shana heard her words slurred but still intelligible, and then as she felt the sick dizziness arising from the first rush of drug, retreated behind her training, forcing herself to think in only Gaelic, focusing on speaking only Gaelic.

"Bitch!" Sandra didn't slap her this time; it was a punch with the full force of her weight behind it. Shana's head snapped around on her neck, banging painfully against the head of the table she lay on. "I'll teach you to laugh at me, you…"

She headed for the bank of cabinets, opening drawer after drawer, door after door as she looked for the items she wanted. Another TENS unit, electrode pads, more alligator clips. She had glanced at the ones she'd stuck to Shana's temples earlier; they were still firmly on. Good. Not that she particularly cared whether Shana was visibly damaged or not, but she wanted to keep the redhead intact. Sooner or later that boyfriend of hers would come looking and Sandra fully intended to capture him when he did, using Shana as bait. Then, the real fun would begin. She would show them both who was better; the perfect soft American bitch or herself.

She put all of that down on the table, unbuckled the straps that restrained Shana's ankles. She felt safe enough doing that now; Shana couldn't possibly kick up a fight with that much of Sandra's drugs running through her. The strap that ran over her knees was next, then the one over her upper thighs.

That was when Shana made her move.

She lashed out with her legs, picking her right leg and lifting it over Sandra's bent head, bringing it down behind Sandra's back and pinning the Colombian woman against the table. Even under the influence of the drugs and with the tremors in her muscles, she was still stronger than Sandra and was able to pin the other woman; then with all the rest of the strength in her body she brought her knee up and slammed it into Sandra's nose.

Blood fountained. Sandra screamed. Gritting her teeth, Shana did it again. This time, when she brought her knee up, she drove it up at an angle, carefully chosen to accomplish what she was trying to do.

It worked beautifully. For Shana, at least. Her knee slammed into Sandra's nose, drove the shattered bits of bone and cartilage up into the woman's brain, killing her instantly. It was a move that Snake Eyes had taught her, long ago; her father had never taught her to kill, but under Snake Eyes' tutelage she'd learned how to perform moves like this to save her life in an emergency.

This classified as an emergency.

And Shana couldn't help but feel a bit of satisfaction as she relaxed her leg, letting Sandra's dead body slide off the side of the table until she hit the floor with a dull thud. _Got you, you sick little bitch. That's for Liv, and Clayton, and Alex._

Now, the next problem: to get free.

Martial arts required flexibility. She'd spent a lifetime getting that flexibility and maintaining it. Not flexibility like Cam's—she'd seen Cam lift her leg behind her until her heel touched the back of her head; Shana winced whenever she saw Cam do it because it looked like her spine would snap—but she was flexible enough to bring one leg all the way up, straining until she could touch the edge of a buckled strap with a toe, and start nudging that backward until she got the strap free of its restraining loop, then started working the tongue of the buckle free. She had to stop several times as she was doing it; the drugs made it hard to focus on what she was doing, and muscle tremors from the previous drug dose made it hard to maintain a sustained position for long.

She had gotten the buckle around her right wrist free and was considering how to go about working on the strap around her forearm, just under her elbow, when the door opened.

Two burly, muscled African men came in, and she recognized them as being two of the three who had picked her out of the river back in the jungle. Shana felt her heart sink even as she braced herself for a fight, for retaliation; she'd killed their boss, and somehow she didn't think they were going to let it go.

She didn't need to know French or any of the native dialects to know what they were shouting as they flew across the room, knelt to check Sandra's pulse. And when they found none, and turned to look at her with ugly expressions, she braced herself, cursing that she hadn't worked faster, tried harder to get herself free, earlier.

The first blow snapped her head around on her neck, slammed her head against the top of the restraint table. The next one drew blood as her teeth accidentally cut her lip from the impact of the fist against her mouth.

And then she stopped counting blows, stopped being able to think of anything except pain as fists slammed into her, using her restrained body as a punching bag. She tried to be stoic, tried to stay silent, but it grew too much and by the time they stepped back, knuckles red with blood from her bloodied nose and her split and bleeding lip, she was crying in pain. _Please, Snake Eyes, please, find me, save me, please…_She didn't know she'd spoken aloud until one man looked at her, asked her what she'd said. The other man just grinned and pointed to the bottles and needles on the counter.

She was barely conscious as they stepped back from her. All she could feel now was a sick relief that they were done, and all she wanted was for them to leave her alone. Between the drugs and the concussion she was sure she'd sustained during their beating, all she wanted to do was drift into the darkness she could sense just behind her eyes.

She came to semi-awareness as they reached for the buckles and straps around her arms, and she fuzzily tried to gather herself as they started to unbuckle the restraints. As soon as she was free she wrenched herself away from them, stumbling away to the other side of the room, and grabbed for one of the needles. The first shadow that came at her she lashed out with the needle in her hand, not really thinking she could do any damage but desperate to keep them away from her in whatever way was possible.

The next few minutes were a blur; she had a confused recollection later of a man coming at her and going down in a gush of blood; the needle in her hand snapped, and she reached behind her, snagging one of the bottles of drugs. A quick snap, and she had a bit of jagged glass in her hand, which she used to slash and hack at the shapes that came at her through the blurred perspective of her eyes.

Then someone grabbed her from behind, and she screamed but was too weak and dizzy and disoriented to fight as they wrapped her in a bear hug, immobilizing her arms. An impact to her stomach made her retch as her aching midsection objected to being punched—strenuously—and by the time she managed to stop heaving, her arms were secured behind her with more of those damn plastic zip ties and her ankles were similarly secured.

They took some time, then, to kick her as she lay helpless on the floor. She cried and screamed as their heavy shoes impacted her side, her back, her arms and legs and stomach and ribs and face; a heel in her eye almost made her lose her breath entirely with the pain, and finally someone stomping on her fingers behind her made her start to cry. She couldn't help it, she was exhausted, dizzy with drugs and repeated blows to her head, unable to think, react, fight, or defend, and all she wanted was for them to _please, God, just leave me alone!_

The vicious battering finally stopped, and she barely felt hands on her arms, hauling her semi-upright. Her brain registered the change in position, and she threw up helplessly, sick and dizzy, and she was abruptly dropped again as the man on her right jumped back to avoid getting anything on him.

She went limp, unable to fight anymore as they dragged her out of the room and down a hall. Moments later a hood was popped over her head and then she was thrown into the bed of a truck—the same one that had brought her here? She didn't know, and really, couldn't bring herself to care. She was in too much pain, too sick and dizzy from the beating and the drugs, and as the truck engine started under her cheek, she let the sound of the engine lull her down into the darkness. Her last thought was _Snake Eyes, please…find me…_

Snake Eyes sat up with a start. He'd finally managed to lie down and catch a few hours of exhausted sleep; haunted at the thought of what could be happening to Shana on this, her second full night of being missing, he'd been unable to sleep till now.

But even now that he'd been able to get some sleep, he didn't feel any better. His dreams had been haunted with images; Shana, her face bruised, swollen, battered, one eye swelling shut, lip split and leaking blood down her chin, whispering to him, pleading brokenly with him to _find me, please find me, please…_

He'd never been able to resist her when she asked him for something. For someone who had been shaped and defined by what others expected from her, she was remarkably undemanding herself. Yes, she demanded a lot from their recruits, demanded that they meet Joe standards, and she kept all of them on their toes; but personally, no. She never expected, never demanded; only asked, and was perfectly ready for a refusal. And it was for that reason that whenever she asked him for something, he rarely ever refused her.

And he wouldn't now. _I'll find you. I don't care how long it takes, Shana, love, I'll find you no matter where you are. Hold on for me!_


	22. Chapter 22: Traffickers

**Chapter 22: Traffickers**

Cam could be the most lighthearted person in the world. She had a wicked sense of humor and an infectious laugh that almost invariably made everyone around her smile; it was a constant source of amazement to Flint that she could still laugh so unreservedly even after everything she'd been through.

But her past had also given her a more-than-adequate glimpse into the dark side of the human psyche; the darkness that lived in everyone, even herself. She'd had unimaginable things done to her, and been forced to do unimaginable things just to survive, and so she knew, better than most people did, what darkness lived in her own soul.

By the time Flint opened the door to the jail hut and Zimurinda saw her, White Queen, and Flint, all trace of humor and levity was gone from her face. She was emotionless, a marble-like mask over her features and a cold, icy look in her eyes.

Her demeanor and expression must have made some impression on him because he looked distinctly uneasy. That uneasiness translated into the way his eyes flickered to Polaris, to White Queen, to Flint, and back again.

Polaris strode up to him and before anyone could react, she slapped his abdomen.

_She learned something from the SERE course,_ Flint thought as she repeated the maneuver twice more. Zimurinda yelled, though Flint thought it was rather more from shock that she would have just started in on him without speaking to him first, as he no doubt expected her to do after having dealt with Americans before. _Talk first. Violence should never be your first solution,_ whispered his training, but he pushed it stubbornly aside. They'd tried talking. And there was no time to finesse Zimurinda; every minute that passed was another moment when someone might have killed Shana.

Polaris finally stood back, balancing lightly on the balls of her feet, still silent and expressionless. White Queen was the one who spoke now. "Now. Have you thought of any other places where your people could have taken our friend?"

"I—I don't know."

Polaris shrugged off her fatigue top, then her t-shirt, and Zimurinda turned pale when he saw the scar tissue that latticed her torso under the tank top she wore. "What happened to you?' he gasped, completely spontaneously.

Polaris spoke to him for the first time, her voice still flat, face expressionless. "Monsters like you," she said coolly. "I learned from the best. Let's see if you do better than I did." She took a step forward.

"Keep her away from me!" Zimurinda howled to White Queen, to Flint, his eyes flicking wildly from Polaris to White Queen to Flint and back again. "Keep her away from me, I swear, I don't know, unless my men took your friend to Kinshasa and gave her to the slave traders. Was she pretty? Distinctive? Any way unique? She'll have been shipped to the slave markets either as merchandise or meat if she met the standards our Sorter set."

"Your sorter?" Flint gave Polaris a tiny, almost infinitesimal nod, and she stepped back, still expressionless.

"She's new. Her name is Sandra. She used to be our Colombian contact's right hand, but after he was arrested by the international police she came here and she helped us get in touch with the new power here—now we catch the goods and send them to Kinshasa, and his sorter—this woman Sandra—she decides if the merchandise is good enough to be sold as merchandise or meat or just disposed of."

"She was the redhead we had with us." Polaris stepped forward, and there was a chilling intensity in her eyes. "Red hair, green eyes. A rare combination. But she's also a fighter, how would this Sandra have gotten to her?"

"Drugs—The guy has access to lots of drugs and he provides them to his sorter to take care of special merchandise."

"Special merchandise." Polaris' voice was soft, and she drew in a breath. "Where do you hold captives before shipping them? Where does The Sorter do her work?"

"Kinshasa. There is an abandoned hospital there by an old quarry on the Route Nsanda where they are kept. Once it is decided which ones will go to the slave market they are trucked down Route Nsanda to the N1 to Matadi, then they are loaded into cargo containers and shipped to Cabinda, in Angola. The cargo containers are put on barges once there and from there the cargo ships stop at major ports all around West Africa until they get to Rabat, Morocco, and then they do not stop again until they get to Amsterdam. The ports in France and Spain are too well guarded, and they check the shipping containers. Once in Amsterdam your friend will be unloaded and sold in the market there." He licked his lips nervously. "If she is very pretty or very distinctive they will not harm her; she is worth much more money undamaged."

"There are ways of damaging someone that doesn't leave marks." Polaris' voice was hard. "Trust me, I know some of them. It was slave dealing monsters like you who made me what I am today. Don't forget that." She spun away from him, strode out of the hut.

White Queen and Flint followed her; she took several steps past the hut, looked directly at Flint, and said, "We have to get to Kinshasa. Fast. Before they get Shana out of the country. Once she leaves there will be no way to find her, no way to track her—there are a dozen ports of call between here and Amsterdam and she could be unloaded at any of them." She turned and started to head at a fast walk to the hut they'd been using.

"How do you know? Cam, wait!" Flint put a hand on her arm. "I didn't understand a lot of what he said out there, about sorters and merchandise. What was he talking about?"

"Shana's been picked up by human traffickers. They'll take her to their central warehouse to be sorted as either merchandise or meat, and then she'll be shipped out via established slave routes until she reaches a market that she can be sold. If we don't move, now, we might not find her before she's shipped out, please, don't stand here talking!"

"How do you know all this?" Flint refused to budge.

Polaris took a shuddering breath. "Flint, please. You promised. 'Forget everything that happened, we're never going to bring it up again'. Remember that?" He nodded, and she bit her lip. "I just…I know. Please leave it at that." Her eyes were full of remembered pain when she looked up at him, and Flint bit his tongue on the rest of his words. _She just wants to be normal. So don't bring it up, just accept that she has this knowledge. And be grateful for it because now we know. _

"Let's go tell the others."

Snake Eyes could barely believe his ears when Flint told them, in clipped, succinct words, what Zimurinda had said. Shana, his Shana, in the hands of human traffickers, people who would look at her as property and treat her as such. Who would take away the most basic of her rights and freedoms and treat her as property, as less than human, her only value being the money they would make from her. No. No, no, no, it wouldn't happen, it couldn't happen, he refused to allow it! They would find her in Kinshasa, he was certain they would.

"So pack up. Everyone. We're going back to Goma airport, get on that transport, head for Kinshasa's airport—N'Djili Airport, according to this map. As soon as we land there we offload our vehicles and get to this abandoned hospital at the quarry Zimurinda was talking about."

"Right here," Brawler said, stabbing a finger at the map. "Look, right over here by the Kimbanseke Cemetery just south of the city." He said reluctantly, "I have to say it's a good spot for it. The quarry's outside of the city's limits at the end of a very long quarry road, and there's virtually no habitation between it and the next city, Kasangulu, which is 25 miles away."

"I don't care how good of a spot it is. We have to get there, fast. If we don't find Shana before the cargo transport she's on leaves, we might not see her again for a while." Left unsaid were the words 'if ever'. Flint had impressed on them all that the cargo transport would leave from Cabinda, Angola and eventually end in Amsterdam, but they all knew that left an impressive amount of the Earth in between and Shana could conceivably be dropped off at any point in between—and since he had no idea how people were trafficked from one place to another, he really didn't have any idea just where in the world Shana could possibly end up.

By unspoken agreement, neither Flint, White Queen, or Polaris had mentioned just where the extent of the knowledge came from. Let the others think that Zimurinda had given the information; Flint didn't want to drag Cam into it. He assumed, from her reaction, that she had acquired the knowledge at some point during her captivity with her Aunt and Uncle; and working under that assumption, he not only understood why she wouldn't want anyone to know, he honestly didn't want to know either. Cam was a pretty straightforward sort of person, what you saw with her was what you got, but there were some things she carried around in her head that he was absolutely certain he didn't want in his, and if there was something she wanted to keep private, he'd defend that privacy to the absolute best of his ability.

They folded up the maps and started packing; in less time than he would have thought, the tarps that separated the women's sleeping area were down and packed. Snake Eyes bent and wordlessly started to pack Shana's things; Cam stopped as she was packing her own bag, said something quietly to him. Flint didn't hear what she said, but Snake Eyes looked up at her in gratitude, and she rested a hand gently on his shoulder for a moment as she got up, then headed out. Moments later, Charlie did too—and Snake Eyes looked slightly more reassured as he got up and carried both his and Shana's bags out to the second vehicle. And when Flint got his bag packed and went outside, he saw Recondo, Brawler and Recoil get into the third Humvee; Snake Eyes, Spirit, and Polaris get in the second; and White Queen and Gung Ho were waiting for him in front of the first one with Zimurinda restrained and gagged in the back.

The ride back to Goma was accomplished in almost complete silence. There was little radio chatter between the three vehicles, and Flint was willing to bet there wasn't much inside those vehicles either. They drove as fast as they dared, and Flint felt enormous relief that Keshero was actually on one of the main roads that connected the eastern half of the country. In a country with only three hundred miles of paved road, thank God Keshero was on one of them.

As soon as they saw the airport in the distance, Flint turned to Alex. "What do we do with our prisoner? Is there a UN garrison somewhere that will take him? If there isn't one close we'll bring him along with us because we have to get to Shana quickly, but I'd rather not if we don't have to."

"Leave that to me," Alex said, and as soon as the three vehicles came to a stop on the runway in front of their transport, she got out and sprinted toward the airport administration building. In less time than Flint would have thought it would take to get through government red tape, Alex was back leading a string of officials in what was plainly military uniforms; and to his relief, while some of those uniforms carried the symbol of the Army of the DRC, the majority of those uniforms carried the much more familiar symbol of the UN, and he saw under those UN sleeve emblems, they were also displaying patch flags of different nations; Australia, Great Britain, and Russia were only three of the forces present but it was enough for him to assure he wouldn't be turning Zimurinda over to his own people, who would either exact bloody revenge and summary justice, or they would let him go—he was after all, a Lieutenant Colonel in their army. With international forces involved, they couldn't do that.

Alex was flashing her ICC badge all over the place, speaking in rapid English and French; at one point she took their map of the country out of her pocket and gestured to it, speaking in rapid French. Flint didn't bother to try and keep track of the exchange, there were just some times when you had to trust your people to do what you needed them to do, and this was one of those times. Instead, he and Gung Ho supervised loading and securing the three Humvees into the transport, then their equipment, and right about the time they finished with that Alex came flying back up to them looking grimly satisfied. "Get in the plane and let's head for Ndjili Airport," she said without preamble. "I managed to get permission for us to land there and then take our Humvees out to the quarry. I showed them our maps, showed them where we were going and told them what we were doing and they agreed when I told them why."

When they were in the air heading for the opposite side of the country she explained. "The authorities here are going to send word to check every container on every cargo convoy leaving Kinshasa, and they are also going to send word on ahead to Cabinda, in Angola, to check the cargo convoys leaving there. If the convoy with Shana on it hasn't yet left the DRC, they won't be leaving now, and we'll have her. If the convoy leaving Cabinda hasn't yet left Angolan waters, they won't be leaving either and we'll have her. Judy is going to have my hide for flashing my ICC authorization all over the place, but it couldn't be helped."

"Did you tell them why we're doing this?" Flint asked her. "About Shana?"

"I had to," Alex said, looking uncertain for the first time. "I reminded them that we'd come to rescue their citizens from a rogue member of their army, and in the process of rescuing their children, their rogue army members captured a highly-decorated top US Army officer and sold her to slavers and we have to find her before they leave. These people are impoverished and live in a war-torn country, and they desperately want what we have in America, even such basic things as clean drinking water and roads, and they think if they are seen as welcoming and cooperative, it might eventually lead to trade agreements and further support from the US to help quell their rebellions and return peace here for the people." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "So let's get there as fast as possible."

An hour later they had landed in Kinshasa. Visitors and natives gawked at the army transport squatting down at the end of the runway, curiosity piqued even further when two Humvees made their way out of the belly of said transport and almost flew out of the airport and down the twisting maze of roads. Flint was driving one, Spirit driving the other; they'd all agreed to make a quick, surgical strike to get Shana out, and that meant speed was paramount over anything else.

The maps had been right; once you got out of the city proper, the jungle closed in. They sped down ten miles of road without seeing so much as a signpost, another house, a mile marker or anything they'd come to expect in the US, even on roads that wound through long stretches of wilderness. The turnoff to the abandoned quarry was marked only by a change in the grade of the road; the road to the quarry was abandoned and had fallen into disuse. Flint and Gung Ho drove down it as fast as they dared, some small part of flint's mind hoping they would meet up with a vehicle traveling in the opposite direction that would just happen to have Shana in it, but as they got to the quarry and saw the long, low concrete administrative buildings and the squat, silent building marked 'hospital', the flat roof bristling with solar panels to provide constant power to the building, their hearts sank. Although the black-painted windows showed the place most likely was being used for something illegal, there were no vehicles to show anyone was still there and the doors to the buildings were wide open, as if their occupants had left in a hurry.

The first thing that hit Flint as he stepped into what would have been the emergency room of the 'hospital' was the smell. There was a large admitting room with smaller rooms, each one about the size of a monitoring cubicle, leading off that main room. But where there should have been doors, or even, as in a US hospital, a curtain between the cubicle and the main desk, there were barred doors, like the ones in a jail. Each cubicle had what looked like a rusted coffee can in the corner, and the smell from those coffee cans proclaimed their use; as latrines. The walls of each cubicle had rusted eyebolts set into the concrete and heavy chains and shackles hanging from them; Flint counted five sets of shackles for each eight-by-six cubicle. His stomach lurched. Dear God, how did you keep people in conditions like this? The shackles were well-used, and the coffee cans in each cubicle definitely smelled used; he did a quick count; eleven rooms, five people per room, that was 55 people sold as slaves, humans become property just so another human could make money.

They stepped deeper into the building, flipping open each door, flicking on lights, checking each room. One looked like it had once had x-ray machines in it; this was now converted into a holding room apparently for children; Alex gave a soft moan as she saw an incongruously bright blue child's playpen bolted to the floor with two sets of tiny shackles hanging from a chain around the top rail of the pen. Flint felt his heart twist in his chest as he saw that; he couldn't imagine the cruelty, the callousness, inherent in keeping babies chained in a playpen.

A shout from the end of the hall caught his attention, and he headed down the hall at a run, ignoring the others in favor of heading for a brightly-lit room at the end of the hall around whose doorway Recoil, Spirit, and Recondo were standing silently. They parted for him, he took exactly two steps into the room, and stopped short.


	23. Chapter 23: Cargo

**Chapter 23: Cargo**

The first thing he saw were two bodies. One was a huge, burly African that he thought he'd vaguely seen pursuing them through the jungle after rescuing the children; the second, although they could only see half a face because the body lay on its side, was a face that was shockingly familiar, and the reason why Alex looked so pale he thought she was about to faint—and why Gung Ho was hovering, ready to catch her if she did.

Sandra Velasquez.

When Zimurinda told them the name 'Sandra' back in the village, it had never occurred to him that this Sandra was the one he was talking about—Scarlett and Snake Eyes' old enemy from the ICC. But now looking at the body on the floor, he remembered the face, and so did the rest of the Joes. When Cesar Velez had contacted them to arrange the exchange of Alex's life for the lives of Clayton Abernathy and Olivia Benson, Sandra Velasquez had been right beside him, asking for Shana and Snake Eyes to be part of the team because she was nursing a grudge against Shana for uncovering her part of the conspiracy at the ICC and forcing her to flee. She also had some unspecified, nameless hostility toward Scarlett and Snake Eyes for something that had happened during that mission, although neither Scarlett nor Snake Eyes would talk about it. And short of a direct order from Hawk, if they wanted a secret kept, there was no way you'd pry it out of either one of them.

The next thing he saw was the restraint table in the center of the room, bolted to the floor, buckled straps hanging empty on either side of the arm and the legs. And that, too, made him wonder about things that disturbed his admittedly rather pragmatic mind; Snake Eyes had told him hesitantly about having a very vivid nightmare where he'd seen Shana strapped to a restraint table; Flint had dismissed it at the time as Snake Eyes having a 'worst case scenario' nightmare. Now, looking at the restraint table, he wasn't sure.

The thought of Shana here made Flint's blood boil; while she was a subordinate, rules about rank on Joe base were so flexible that he thought of her more as a friend and an equal. It also helped that his lover was Shana's best friend, and the thought of what Allie would feel when she found out what had happened to Shana didn't bear thinking about. He turned his attention to the counters, and saw the needles, the vials of drugs, and anguish threatened to crack the shell he'd formed over his feelings until he had the luxury of giving into them. Dear God… he remembered what Olivia had looked like when she came back from Colombia with the rest of the Joes; seeing that in Shana's eyes would kill him.

Alex picked up one of the glass vials and looked at the label. "Sodium pentothal," she read, and looked at him with wide eyes. "Isn't that…commonly used in interrogations?"

The mythical 'truth drug'. They'd all heard of it at some point in their training or their careers. Sodium pentothal and other barbitals were commonly considered 'truth drugs'; the administration of them, at least as portrayed in popular media, supposedly would make the person receiving the dose susceptible to the interrogator's questions and would spill whatever secrets they were keeping.

Of course, the reality of the stuff, despite what was portrayed in movies, wasn't even close. The drug worked by shutting off the brain's ability to consciously filter what the interrogatee said; the interrogator would have to sift through everything that was spoken in order to find whatever the truth was they were looking for. Sometimes they found they were looking for. More often, all they got was useless bits of a person's random subconscious, bits of memory that could be completely unrelated to the questions being asked, and if the interrogatee had been trained in narcointerrogation resistance, they might not get anything at all. "They interrogated her," he said grimly, voicing what they were all thinking. "Probably about us and where we were and what we're doing here. Since they haven't caught us yet, we have to assume that they didn't get whatever the information was that they wanted."

"Sandra interrogated her," Alex said, dropping to one knee and looking, but not touching, the body of the woman next to it, then looked at the needles and vials lying on top of the nearby counter. "Just like she interrogated Clayton and Liv. But I agree with you that she didn't get what she wanted."

Snake Eyes stepped past Alex and nudged Sandra's body over with a toe—and they all gasped. Lying on one side, the blood in her body had pooled downward, and half her face was livid with congealed blood. What shocked them, though, was that her face was coated with dried blood from a shattered nose—and the pieces of her nose had been driven up into her brain to kill her. It was a move that only someone very skilled in martial arts could pull off, and they knew instinctively who it was that would have been able to kill Sandra like that.

"Shana did that," Cam said, and when Flint looked up, Cam's dark eyes were filled with fierce pride. "She killed the bitch."

Alex paced around the room, piecing together what had happened from what they saw in front of them, honed by years of working with crime scene investigators. "Shana was restrained on the table, and Sandra, for whatever reason, unstrapped her legs—and Shana killed her and freed herself. Then these guards come in, come after her, and she grabs for one of those needles and kills this guy with it." She indicated the body of the burly African, pointing to the thin bloody line across his face and then the puncture at the side of his neck. "Only someone skilled at self-defense and familiar with the human anatomy would have been able to kill someone by shoving a needle in his carotid artery and ripping it out." Her voice was cool, clinical. Detached. She was trying not to show how much all of this was bothering her, refusing to give into her emotions until she had the luxury of it. Flint approved, even admired, her for it; despite not having had military training, she thought and acted like one.

"But we have to assume that she's been drugged heavily. Look at the dents in the walls, the blood on the floor, and this." She pointed to, but didn't touch, a puddle of drying fluid on the floor. "That's human vomit. I'm guessing she's so heavily drugged that she simply couldn't fight the guards when they came for her, although I will guess she tried—she put up a terrific fight. I will venture a guess that they had to beat her unconscious in order to get her to submit—there are drag marks in the blood leading out the door. I'm guessing they've taken her to Matadi already and she's either on the way or already on the cargo transport heading to Cabinda. Either way, they aren't leaving Africa with her. We'll find her either in Matadi or we'll find her in Cabinda."

""Let's go, then—" Flint started to speak when Snake Eyes suddenly stepped past Alex, bent over, and picked up something from the floor that had fallen just under the edge of a cabinet.

A standard issue bead chain and two dog tags.

And Flint didn't have to see the name and numbers stamped on them to know whose they were. Bent, dented, the rubber silencers lining the edge ripped and torn, they still knew whose tags those were.

Snake Eyes' legs buckled, and no one was close enough to him to reach him before he fell to his knees, staring numbly at the tags in his hand, face full of anguish, eyes full of pain. His head was lowered, but Flint could see the tears sparkling at the corner of Snake Eyes' blue eyes. They had come here, hoping, expecting, to find Shana; instead, they'd found a scene that horrified and shocked them.

Cam dropped to a crouch in front of him. "Snake Eyes."

No answer.

"Snake Eyes."

On the third repetition of his name he finally looked up, and the emptiness in his eyes tore at Flint's heart.

"Think. This is not the end of the world. This sucks, yes, but…we know she's alive. We know she's in good enough shape that she fought back and she was able to kill two people to try and get away. They won't kill her, she's too valuable. She's white, she has beautiful skin, beautiful hair, she's fit and toned and has no physical defects. She's worth a lot of money to someone out there in the market for a slave." She swallowed hard but her voice was steady as she went on. "One of my uncle's clients would bring his slave over and we were forced to…do things…to each other so they could watch. In the times they left us alone we talked. I know how this goes, Snake Eyes, I know what they want, what they look for, and Shana's worth as much as half a million dollars to the right buyer. They won't kill her, but we have to get to them, have to find her, before they leave Africa. She won't be sold in Africa, no one could keep a white woman captive here, she'd stick out. We have to go. Now."

Flint tried to hide his shock. He'd known that Cam was a victim of the kinds of crimes Liv and Alex prosecuted. He'd known, maybe more than, say, Recoil or Brawler, because his position as Hawk's second-in-command decreed that he had to know details like this about his personnel, his people. But he hadn't known this detail. And now he understood where that knowledge had come from that she'd told them earlier; understood why she hadn't wanted to bring it up, understood why she didn't want to talk, understood why she'd begged him for silence, asked to be considered completely normal. And he also wondered, now, about what she hadn't said; he doubted that she would have acquired this knowledge just talking to another girl in the same situation she was for a few minutes while their 'owners' had gone to get a drink of water or use the bathroom. This information would have come from extended chatting, from an intimate knowledge of someone who had been through it; and it made him flinch at the thought of a fifteen year old Cam Arlington forced to do something unspeakable to another girl, maybe just as young, so their 'owners' could watch. The very thought horrified and disgusted him.

"Come on." Cam held out a hand to Snake Eyes, laid it gently on his arm. "Let's go. There's nothing else for us here. Take comfort in the fact that Shana was in good enough shape to kill two people, and let's go find her before her traffickers get any further away."

Snake Eyes rose to his feet, still clutching the dog tags, and strode silently from the room; Cam stood wearily, the first un-graceful movement Flint had ever seen her make, and oh, the bitterness in her eyes as she faced the rest of them. "Please don't ask. Now is not the time. Let's get Shana back first." She hadn't wanted to talk about it, hadn't wanted to tell anyone how she knew what she knew, but her need to comfort Snake Eyes, reassure him, had overridden her need for privacy. Flint understood that as she dropped her head and followed Snake Eyes out of the room.

"We won't talk about this. Again. To anyone." Flint's voice was harsh with emotion as he looked around the room. As one, each of the Joes nodded, and he saw the same expression on their faces that he knew was on his. They didn't want to think about Cam in that situation anymore than he did, and they would try to forget as soon as they could—or they would take it with them to the grave.

And then they all left that room, the bodies in it, and focused on finding Shana.

"Matadi Port Authority to Cargo Vessel Mokata. Are you there, brother?"

Mathieu Kunzulu picked up the radio. "Right here, Amaury, though I have to say I didn't expect to hear from you this soon, I just saw you and the rest of the family in Matadi! Is everything okay?"

"_Mais oui,_ everything is fine, I just wanted you to know there's going to be some kind of delay when you get to Cabinda. We just received orders to close our port until every outgoing cargo vessel is checked, and they said they're calling ahead to Cabinda to do the same to their port. Incoming ships are still allowed to come in, but outgoing ships are being checked thoroughly before being allowed to leave. I thought I'd give you a heads up so you can let your captain know."

"Merci, Amaury, I'll let _Capitan_ Yembe know. Thanks." Mathieu clicked off with his brother, then called the captain's radio. "_Capitan_ Yembe, please respond." When there was no immediate answer, he tried again. "_Capitan_ Yembe?"

The captain's voice finally came on. "Yes, Navigator?"

"My brother Amaury, he works at the Matadi port authority; he says that the government just ordered the port shut down. Cargo coming in is allowed to come in but all outgoing vessels are to be checked before going, we missed the order at Matadi by half an hour, but he says by the time we get to Cabinda that port will be under the same orders and we will probably be delayed there until all our cargo is examined." He allowed a trace of sarcasm to tinge his voice. "As if we would be contracted by any company to carry contraband."

The captain was silent for a moment, then said, "Mathieu, are we fully fueled?"

"_Oui_, _Capitan_."

"Then as soon as you get to the mouth of the river, don't turn right up the coast to Cabinda. Make haste for the next stop on our route, the port of Douala, in Cameroon. We should have enough fuel to make it there and we can refuel there."

"But fuel is more expensive there, Sir, why are we—"

"Mathieu, we are carrying some valuable cargo that is of considerable interest to Kennedy Shipping. They are the owners of this boat and I have been ordered to get this cargo there on time. If we are delayed at Cabinda we could miss our schedule, and they could fire me for that. And you would also be out of a job, and I know at this moment you can't afford it with your son in hospital. We must keep this schedule, so you will bypass the Cabinda port and go on to Douala, Cameroon."

"Aye-aye, sir."

Yembe clicked off his radio. "That's that, then." He looked at the four men to his left. "The Americans must have figured out that their soldier was sold to slavers. They must be the ones behind this, asking our government to block our ports and check our cargo. Thank goodness for the advance warning. We'll bypass Cabinda and head to Cameroon."

He looked down at his feet, at the barely-conscious American woman lying on the rusted, stained floor of the cargo container. The Americans would get over it, they had plenty of soldiers, but in all the years he'd been trading in slaves, most recently for Kennedy Logistics, he had never seen a woman like this. She was beautiful, all pale skin and fiery hair, and even with her face bruised and swollen and her eyes glazed from the drugs they forcibly injected her with, he could see she was exceptional. Not soft like the American women he saw on TV wearing dresses that cost more than his family made in a year; lying and quarrelsome and arguing and having sex behind their husband's backs; no, this woman was none of those things. That made her exceptional. She was also still trying to fight them even with the massive doses of drugs in her body, keeping her uncoordinated and unable to fight. They'd started with barbiturates, but even massive doses, triple what they gave the other slaves, only kept her out for a quarter hour at a time. They'd graduated to stronger barbiturates and then amphetamines, scopolamine, then on to the slightly more dangerous but equally necessary benzodiazepine Rohypnol; that had finally done the trick, the combinations of all three drugs keeping her too far out of it to put up a significant fight as they chained her in the back of the gray corrugated shipping container, away from the other slaves they were transporting on this run so that her fighting wouldn't inspire the other slaves to similar rebellion.

She now lay on the floor with shackles on her wrists and ankles stretching her limbs far apart, because he'd realized as soon as he saw her fight that she was a trained fighter and to allow her even one moment with her limbs free would spell disaster. For that matter, he'd left orders for them that she not spend a single moment of the trip not heavily drugged. She was too much of a risk.


	24. Chapter 24: Leaving Africa

**Chapter 24: Leaving Africa**

"She is not here."

"What do you mean, she's not here?" Flint took a narrow-eyed look at the cargo containers stacked on the decks of the ship behind the Congolese official.

"Monsieur, we have checked every container, every ship. If she was on a container heading out of this port she was gone before we closed the port. According to you, she went missing two days ago; your…friend…last saw her two days ago. The order to close the port only came down an hour ago. In that time we have had ten cargo vessels leave this port, five per day, most of them carrying raw ore and manufactured goods. We took dogs onto the ships currently docked here to check them; as they are the same dogs we use to hunt rogue militia through the jungle, they would alert to any scent of a human on these ships. We actually did find a couple of cargo containers of tobacco that had escaped taxes and tariffs, and did find a small cache of illegal drugs, but we found no trafficked persons, and certainly no American women with bright red hair as you described." The man was keeping a wary eye on Snake Eyes, standing just behind Flint; Snake Eyes' silent, hovering dark presence plainly unnerved him, and made it more likely that he was indeed telling the truth.

"Can you give us a list of all the ships that have left in the last two days, when they left, and what their destinations were?" There was no point in arguing, they would take the list and hurry to Cabinda. It had been 25 miles from the quarry to Matadi, almost two hours given the rainy weather and the condition of the roads, and now they had to turn back to Kinshasa and get back on the transport, then fly to Cabinda. The authorities there had been instructed to hold incoming ships but Flint didn't know how long they would continue to do so, so it was imperative that they get there as soon as possible.

The Congolese official turned and snapped an order to his aide, who ran off. "My aide will bring the list of ships, their owners, and as much of the cargo manifesto as we have access to. We understand you want your soldier back, and we are very, very sorry that this has happened at all, especially as you were so instrumental in rescuing a number of our most helpless children." Alex had explained to him why the Americans had been on Congolese soil, and that ICC badge seemed like a magic wand that produced cooperation whenever she waved it. Flint was fervently glad Alex had come on this trip.

Barely five minutes later the aide was back with a stack of papers, some handwritten, some computer-generated, all copies and none, he noted with surprise, had been redacted. They were serious about their desire to help the American soldiers, and he sighed as he nodded. "You can release the ships you currently have here. We'll head to Cabinda and hope she's there." He started to get up and head for the door, then turned and said quietly, "Thank you, very much, for your cooperation. I realize we've inconvenienced you by holding up your port's business, and I sincerely hope this doesn't cost you business."

"Not at all, not at all," the man waved a hand at Flint. "When the order first crossed my desk I will admit I didn't understand. But when you explained to me that you have lost a valued friend and fellow soldier, and that she was female, we all understood. This country has been a hotbed of strife and war and, as is the case with all conflicts like this, it is the children and women who suffer the most, and I am more sorry than you could ever know that your friend and fellow soldier was caught up in this." He swallowed hard. "My mother was visiting some friends in a village halfway across the country. Raiders attacked it. My mother was gang-raped many, many times, and was so badly damaged that to this day she is unable to sit comfortably for long periods of time and suffers from frequent female infections due to the injuries she sustained. She says she is lucky to have survived, but having seen what she goes through every day I hate these people as much as you do and I hope that your friend will not have to go through what my mother did."

"Thank you," Flint said quietly, and that was all he could manage; he left the room with a lump in his throat and stinging eyes.

Every minute it took to get to Cabinda was another minute of worry. Every hour it took felt like another year added to his life. Even when he caught an hour of exhausted sleep in the back of the C4 while they flew from the DRC to Angola, it was an uneasy sleep, dogged by the urgency that overwhelmed his conscious and his subconscious; _hurry, hurry, hurry_.

They were all exhausted by the time they got to Cabinda, and it took a minute for Flint to process what the port authority official said to them when they got there.

"We have found no such individual as the one you say you are looking for."

Flint's heart twisted in his chest, and he was afraid to turn and look at Snake Eyes. "There must be some mistake, or maybe they aren't here yet," he said desperately. "She's been captured by rogue militia members and they said she'd been sold to traffickers; they also said the cargo vessel she would have been loaded onto would have come here before continuing on up the African coast and up to Europe."

"We have held every cargo vessel that has come into our port for the last day, and searched it carefully from top to bottom. Yes, one of the cargo containers held a shipment of women and children, but none of them was a white woman with red hair. None of them were even white, so it is unlikely that they could have dyed her hair to disguise her—her skin would have given her away. There is no disguising that."

"Do you have a list of the ships that have come in? I have a list of the ships that left Matadi within the last two days; if I can compare the two lists…"

The man dug around the piles of paper on his desk for a moment, coming up finally with a list of ships. "Here is the list of all the ships currently in our harbor. But, Monsieur, keep in mind that not all the cargo vessels that come down the Congo River actually pass through Cabinda. Some go south, to Angola, Namibia, and on to South Africa, where there is a white population where a white woman could easily be sold for domestic slave labor. If the woman soldier you seek was on one of those, she would be well out of your reach by now; it would be difficult to know what ship she is on and what port she has been offloaded at."

Flint stared, openmouthed; it hadn't once occurred to him that the ship might have gone further south; he'd taken it for granted when Zimurinda said it would go north. _I should have asked for them to close the southern ports too! Shana, Jesus, I'm so sorry… _How could he have forgotten something so basic?

Cam stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Monsieur. The friend we are looking for is physically very distinctive; she has very fair skin, red hair, and green eyes, all natural; the red hair and green eyes combination is rare in the human population, and she was also in perfect physical condition, barring some bruises acquired during her capture. Knowing this, what are the chances that she would be sold in, say, Cape Town or Port Elizabeth in South Africa, as opposed to Amsterdam, where we were told by a captured militia leader that that is where they would have taken her? He said it with what I believe is a fair amount of certainty."

The man thought for a moment. "If she is as distinctive as you say, then yes, she would have been taken to Amsterdam. It would be very, very hard to sell her on the African continent; she would be too distinctive, would stand out too much. Someone would eventually see and report her. It would be too high a risk; you could not keep such a woman hidden in any African country. Also, I do not know of any who would be able to afford such a distinctly beautiful slave."

Cam nodded, as if she'd expected that very answer, and nodded to Snake Eyes. He in turn dug in his pocket for something, coming up a moment later with his wallet, from which he extracted a photo of Shana. The picture had been taken in an unguarded moment; Shana was laughing, her green eyes sparkling with humor, her long red hair blowing in an invisible wind, forever captured by the click of a camera shutter. He passed it to the man slowly, as if reluctant to part with it.

The man looked at the picture for a long time before passing it back. "No," he said slowly, almost reverently, as he handed the photo back to Snake Eyes. "There is nowhere in Africa that one could sell a woman like that. Not only will it be impossible to keep her a secret, but it would be impossible to find someone here that could afford her price. The slavers would have taken her to Amsterdam via a sea route."

"Why Amsterdam?" Flint frowned.

"It's the biggest port in Europe. And it's the crossroads of almost all shipping and trading in Europe. You can ask ten people what language they speak and get twenty-five different answers from just as many countries. And since it is a major tourist spot and it is a busy port, many, many things can be smuggled in and through there. It's one of the richest cities in the world." Alex spoke quietly.

"The tourists who come have money, the businessmen who come have even more. You can find anything for sale in Amsterdam, from goods to commodities—to slaves. One of the largest slave auction houses in the world is located there in the Amsterdam underground," Cam supplied quietly.

"If they're so big, how come they haven't been shut down yet?" Flint cursed. "Don't tell me slavery is condoned there."

"It isn't. But you'd have to know where it is in order to get in; the only clients who can are the ones who are already in and word of the commodities offered is spread by word of mouth and carefully constructed brochures with code words not understandable by those who aren't 'in'." She looked at Flint and her expression was unreadable. "I haven't been there, but I knew a slave who came from there. There is no way 'in' unless you are already 'in'."

Flint had been scrutinizing the lists; now he turned to the port official. "I see four vessels who left Matadi who are not on your list of arrived vessels here; the Kutu, the Kabela, Akula, and the Mokata. Let's assume that one of these had our friend on it, and let's assume that they are heading for Amsterdam. Let's also assume that they somehow heard about the port check, knew they were carrying human cargo, and decided not to stop here. Where would be the next likeliest port of call?"

The official looked at the map Flint spread out of the west coast of Africa. "It is difficult to say, Monsieur. The next large port would be Port Gentil, in Gabon; however, they could also stop at Libreville, also in Gabon; or Cogo, Mbini, or Bata in Equatorial Guinea; there is also Porto Alegre in Sao Tome; Kribi, Douala, or Limbe in Cameroon; and Port Harcourt or Lagos in Nigeria."

"Would a cargo ship be carrying fuel enough to make it that far?" Cam asked.

"Madame, assuming they filled up completely in Matadi, they could conceivably go all the way to Amsterdam if they made no stops and went straight there. However, they will need to make stops; to unload legitimate cargo and take on more; to offload slaves in a different country; to take on provisions. While cargo vessels don't carry as much crew as a manned ship, there are still a skeleton crew for whom they must provide food and drink."

Flint slammed a fist down on the desk. "Damn it. I don't want to leave Africa until we find her!"

"What will you do, Monsieur? Stop traffic at every port?"

"You can't do that, Flint." Cam's voice was level. "You couldn't get that many governments to agree to cooperate; both Angola and the DRC have been extraordinarily helpful so far but we can't assume everyone else will be. And if the captain and crew of the cargo vessel are aware of the port closings, chances are they could be aware of the reason why. And if every port they come to is blocked, they could decide the potential payoff isn't worth the trouble; they need food and drink and fuel and they could simply kill her and drop her over the side."

"Stop it!" Flint whirled on her, anguish sharpening his voice. "Stop giving me worst-case scenario predictions. What if they put in at the next stop," he consulted the map, "Port Gentil? It's only a few hours by plane up the coast. What if we could catch them there?"

"And what if they don't stop there? What if the authorities there won't cooperate? What if our motives are mistaken and we start an international incident?"

"So what do we do? Go home? Forget about Shana? I can't do that, Jesus Christ, she's not only my soldier, she's my friend too!"

"But this is not the way to do it. We can't do this alone, Flint," Alex said gently. "Let's call Hawk. Tell him what's going on, find out what he wants us to do."

Hawk snatched up his phone on the first ring. "General Hawk here."

"Hawk, it's Flint." No preamble, no pleasantries. Hawk recognized the voice as Flint's but he sounded strange, worn and tired and somehow old. He'd never heard his Warrant Officer sound like that before. "We checked the ports in the Congo and the most likely route out of the Congo. We can't find her. The port official here says they likely heard about the port blockade and decided to go on to another port, but at this point we don't know what that will be, which one they could have gone to, and not all of the countries could be as willing to help us as the Congolese and the Angolans are. The port official here says if they had a full tank of fuel they could potentially go all the way to Amsterdam without stopping."

"Amsterdam?" Hawk's voice rose on the last syllable. "Jesus—why Amsterdam?"

Flint made a split-second decision. "Word is that Amsterdam is the hub of the European slave trafficking trade. The tourists who come have a lot of money to burn, and the rich businessmen who come can afford whatever they want to buy. And word is that only someone who is 'in' can get in, or you have to know someone who is in on the trade." He rushed on before Hawk could ask where that particular piece of intel came from. "The recommendations flying around here are for us to come home."

"Come home and we can try legal channels. INTERPOL and the US military's African Command can get Shana's photo, description, fingerprints and relevant identification out to all those countries, all those ports, faster than we can call ahead and get through the bureaucratic red tape. Also, I can ask Lieutenant General Johnson to step in for us and intercede on our behalf to get Homeland Security and FBI or CIA cooperation for an inter-agency effort. Perhaps they'll have contacts who are involved with the human trafficking trade, people who can get us 'in' that slave market to look for Shana—or perhaps they can agree to look for us."

Hawk sat down heavily in his chair_. Jesus, Shana as a captive slave_—he had no illusions what a female slave would be used for or subject to. "Consider yourselves ordered to come home. All of you. I know _someone's_ going to want to stay there to keep looking for her, but at this point if she's left Africa and your intel source is reliable, we won't be learning anything else from anyone there. So get your asses back here_. All_ of you." He stressed the 'all'.

"You heard him. Pack up. We're going home to regroup and try a different strategy." Flint turned to his group; Alex, Cam, and Snake Eyes had come with him, and now he fixed Snake Eyes with his version of Hawk's glare.

Snake Eyes folded his arms, resolution in every line of his body_. I am not leaving without Shana._

"You don't have a choice. Hawk just ordered us home."

_Damn the orders._

"Watch your language, Master Sergeant, you are still under my orders! General Hawk has ordered us to return to base and I will ensure those orders are followed even if I have to slap you in chains and haul you back in the brig!"

_Then do it. I'm not leaving voluntarily._

Flint opened his mouth to howl some more, but Cam stepped forward quickly. "Snake Eyes. You won't be returning from Africa with Shana because _she's no longer here._ We'll have to look for her where she's going to end up, not where she's been. We know where they're taking her, it's just a matter of getting there first. All right? Can you accept that's true? Then come home with us and work with us on getting her back. You won't be able to do her any good waiting here, she's already gone."

A long, tense moment; and then Snake Eyes finally, reluctantly nodded.

**Author's Note:** And here ends the first part of 'Secrets'. The first three chapters of the second part are going up concurrently to this one, so look for it.

Now I wanted to address some concerns aired by various reviewers via the reviews page and in a few private messages. No, I am not taking each of the Joe women through the same experiences that Alex, Cam, and Olivia have been through thus far. Shana has been captured by human traffickers, yes, but she will be found and brought back, and what happens to her will be nothing that she won't (reluctantly) agree to in order to protect her rescuer until they can be retrieved by the Joes. This is the last book out of the five that will have any form of non-consensual sex happening to any of the characters.

I will not get graphically detailed, and certain chapters will be available only by email request in order to conform to ratings compliance rules on . I will say, however, that if you choose to not read the rest of this book or the rest of the series, you're going to miss out on some very tender, touching scenes between Snake Eyes and Shana (including his proposal of marriage to her) and some of what happens will have a direct bearing on how Shana manages to get pregnant while on their honeymoon in Book Four, and how she and Snake Eyes wind up as retired military raising their red-haired twins in California in Book Five. There IS a happy ending at the end of all of this, I promise!

Please feel free to PM or review if you have any questions or concerns; I can tailor the books more toward what you as the reader want (and don't want) to see before I post it. At this moment, I'm 65 chapters into Book 4; Shana's about to have her (and Snake Eyes') twins in the middle of the New York superstorm and Hawk is about to make a decision that will affect the future of his command over the G. project.

On to Part 2!


End file.
